


Men and Monsters

by TheHirsch



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cursed beings, Dark Fantasy, Demons, Gen, Kings and Queens, Magic, Monsters, Slavic Folklore, Spectres, War, and, bandits, headhunters, monster hunting, short story collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHirsch/pseuds/TheHirsch
Summary: Findt (like most witchers) makes his living by killing monsters, on most of his quests he is accompanied by the human Connari, who wants to learn all about monsters and how to take care of them. This is a collection of smaller stories  of the two on their quests and travels.
Kudos: 15





	1. Voni

The sun was rising over the endless snowy landscape, smoke rose from a small town by the icy river. Two figures on horseback were moving though a busy street towards the marketplace.

One of them wiry man in dark leather armour, he carried two swords on his back. The most part of his shoulder-long brown hair was tied back to be out of his face. His amber eyes were constantly moving, observing their surroundings.

The other person was a bit taller than him, they looked like they were in their early twenties and appeared to be a monster-slayer as well but they were lacking the witcher’s medallion and the amber eyes. Their name was Connari, they had been born in Attre a town in Cintra.

The two slowed down, as they reached the blackboard, they were looking for a job. They needed one, not too dangerous but challenging enough to be good practice for Connari.

One, in particular, stood out to the witcher and he pointed at the flyer – a village not far from town was haunted by a monster, a demon even. The exact type of monster was not mentioned but that was often the case and with a bit of investigation that knowledge was obtained easily.

Findt, the witcher, had seen countless monsters in his life, he was a monster-slayer for hire. He was trying to teach Connari, not just monster-lore but also basic magic and herbalism.

This was the first winter they were working together and things were fairly new to Connari but they were willing to learn and pick up thing rather quickly.

“You okay with this one?” Findt asked and pointed at the flyer in question.

“Yeah. I trust your judgment,” Connari said with a smile.

Findt grumbled something and pulled his head back to look up into the milky sky, tiny snowflakes were falling down. He clapped the spurs to his horse – if they travelled at brisk pace they would make it to the village within a few hours, early enough to prepare before nightfall.

***

When the pair arrived at the village – a settlement in the woods with maybe fifty houses – snow was falling more heavily.

An elderly woman, who was shovelling snow saw the two and looked up. “Are you two here to take care of the beast?” she asked.

With a village that size everyone knew about major issues like that.

Findt nodded.

The woman pointed down the street to a house. “Our mayor lives there, he posted the flyer, talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Connari said and gave the woman a polite nod.

Findt and Connari got off their horses and led them towards the house.

The mayor opened the door after Findt had knocked, he flinched a bit as he saw Findt’s medallion.

“We heard you have a job for us?” Findt asked.

The major nodded and started to explain. “The butchery was attacked three times in the last week, two of the menials – who were cleaning up in the evening – were killed. One other was injured so badly that he might not recover. We are worried that it will eat our supply and when it is done it will start looking for a different source of food.”

Findt, who had listened attentively, nodded. “Show us the scene, please. We receive payment when the job is done.”

The mayor led the two to where the butchery was located. He tried to make small talk with Findt and Connari but Findt remained silent and Connari tried their best to be polite.

The butcher showed them the damage inflicted by the monster and Findt insisted on seeing the menials’ bodies: They had been scratched and bitten, killed by a lethal bite-wound to the neck-shoulder area.

Findt hummed something indistinct while thinking. “We’ll stay here, trap it and kill it,” he then said to the mayor, all he needed to know.

“I’ll take my people and the family and stay someplace else tonight,” the butcher said. He had come down to give the monster-slayers what he knew.

“Wise,” Findt said. “Thank you.” Findt already knew what they could be dealing with, based on the bite-marks and patterns of attacks.

Findt and Connari followed the men outside to get what they needed from their packs and to get their horses to a safe place.

“Which sword?” Connari asked they had no idea what kind of monster or creature it was.

“Steel will do the job,” Findt said, placing his sword in the sheath on his back. He looked around. “We have some time until it gets dark. Let’s get familiar with the surrounding terrain.”

Connari nodded, they had been about to ask that.

The two walked through the village, checked where livestock was kept and walked into the forest behind the butchery. The terrain went uphill, snow was knee-deep and the trees were getting denser and denser the further they got away from the village.

“We got this, right?” Connari asked. Findt was like an older brother to them, and they needed reassurance.

But Findt didn’t answer, he just looked at them. They got this and Connari knew it.

***

Night came faster than expected, and the village was wrapped into wintery silence, just every now and then a dog barked in one of the houses or barns.

The pair were standing at opposite corners of the main workspace in the butchery, pigs were hung from chains to bleed out in the middle of the room.

Findt already had his sword out but his posture was relaxed his breathing was extremely slow and his eyes were scanning the dark room while his ears were listening for any unusual sound from outside. For a while, the only thing he could hear was Connari’s breathing and his blood flowing in his ears.

Those were the moments when Connari was glad they were not working alone, Findt always got their back.

After an eternity of near-silence, the two could hear rapid, clawed feet approaching.

The two almost simultaneously raised their swords and strengthened their footing. Like usually, Connari was only worried about hitting Findt by accident, it was just anxiety and far from actually happening.

The monster was the size of a big wolf and walked on four legs, it was covered in a dark shell and had a skull-like head. It ran into the room and stopped in front of the pigs, sniffing, turning to Connari. It had picked up on their scent.

Findt attacked it before it could go for Connari, his sword only striking the shell with a hollow sound. The monster around and attacked him instead. Findt struck it again and then used the Sign of Aard to push it outside.

Findt’s face was stern, he was focused. He heard Connari catching up to him while he ran towards the beast. He aimed at the same spot as earlier this time breaking thought its shell wounding its shoulder. Dark warm blood dripped into the white snow while the monster howled and turned around to sprint away. The two started to pursue.

It took them a while until they had caught up with the monster, it stopped in the middle of a pit, where trees were less dense. Only now our pair realised that there were two other monsters of the same kind approached the two monster-slayers.

“Fuck,” Findt hummed and grabbed his sword with two hands. He should have expected this.

The injured monster stayed in the background, and lied down, blood-loss had made it weak.

“You genius,” Connari complained. One of the new monsters attacked them and connari was struggling to fight it off.

Findt was focused on the other one, like earlier hitting it in the same spot several times while it tried to jump at him and bite him.

“Duck!” Findt called out, he didn’t have the time to check if Connari had actually ducked out of the way before he cast two Signs after another. Aard first, which sent their enemies flying a few meters and then used Quen to keep them from hitting him. He swiftly slew the monsters and then broke the Sign. 

“Let’s get the horses and take the monsters to the village to claim our pay.” Findt sheathed his sword and rolled his shoulders. 


	2. Connari from Attre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night when Findt met Connari and how they escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know I should have posted this short story first, I don't know why but I didn't feel like it. From here on the stories should be in chronological order.

Before Findt met Connari, Findt had been a loner – witchers were known for being loners and outsiders – he had not hunted along with anyone since witcher school. So naturally, it had been a while. Like most witchers, he tried to stay out of the affairs of men, stay neutral.  
It took only one eventful night to change all that completely, to bring some change to his rather monotone life of slashing monsters. He did not know that the small settlement he was spending the night at was about to get attacked by raiders. The village was too remote for any count or king to care, it did not have enough economic power and not a lot food came from there.  
Findt didn’t need a lot of sleep, he could even stay days without but when he had the chance to get it, he definitely took it. To his later regret. One other guest was staying at the tavern, a human from Cintra apart from that there was only the owner, his staff and his daughter living in the building.  
That night Findt’s sleep was unusually deep, only the breaking of the window in his room finally woke him up. He jolted up in bed, his left hand reaching for his sword instinctively. The smell of smoke and the warm light coming from outside along with the chaotic yells and women screaming. He jumped out of bed and pulled over his leather armour, grabbed his things and kept his sword in his hand. He was focused and calm when he left his room and ran down the stairs. He did try to not get involved but he had to survive too.  
He stepped outside, his sword raised but nobody noticed him right away, all attackers were focused on their targets. They were not wearing any emblems he recognised and also murdered women and children. The ugly face of war.   
Several buildings had been set on fire already and ember rained down on Findt and his surroundings. His, still messy, dark hair was moving with the firestorm. He closed his eyes for a second to focus and then turned around to get his horse from the stable. The stable’s roof was already partially on fire, the animals inside were panicking – his horse included. He went over and cast a Sign to calm her down, before saddling the mare.  
He freed the other horses so they could run away, before he took the reigns of Goldy, his horse, and lead her outside while talking to her in calming words. She was still under his spell and didn’t even think about bolting.  
Findt had his sword at the ready when he left the stable, nothing had changed about the hot mess. To his left he could see the Cintran leaving the tavern in rapid steps, they tried to get away. But they were noticed by a nearby attacker, who ran towards them.  
Findt had to do something and ran over to take down the assailant with one stroke. He barely heard the Cintran stutter a “thank you” over the yells of a handful other enemies which had now noticed him and came to bash up the two. To his surprise the Cintran had picked up the sword of the slain attacker and was holding it, ready to fight.   
As the attackers reached them Findt noted that the Cintran knew how to defend themselves, their technique was far from perfect but it held up well against the barely trained henchmen.  
Findt even made use of Sign magic during the fight to repel the enemy on their back-foot. Over the ongoing screams and roar of the fires the bright sound of metal hitting metal and flesh being cut echoed through the night.  
More and more attackers were now focused on the witcher and the Cintran, to help their mates fight them, Findt knew the situation would soon be too tense to resolve. So he backed off to where his mare was standing – still under the spell – the Cintran still by his side.  
“Get on there and go!” Findt shouted to the Cintran, before dodging a blow.  
From the corner of his eye, he saw the Cintran hesitate but then they jumped on the horse clung onto it. Findt slapped the mare’s flank to get the horse to move. The Cintran lay low on the horse to not get hit by any arrows shot into her direction as the mare dashed off towards the woods. Findt could follow their tracks later.  
Findt could now fight with all he had without hurting the kid by accident; rely on one of his major strengths – magic. Magic was a great support for defence and attack.  
Findt’s eyes glowed golden as he used a big shock wave to kick the assailants off their feet, take them down one by one without any further struggle. Him fighting was like a dance, a ballet, part of his nature and muscle memory. He did get struck once, an axe he had failed to dodge but it was just a glancing blow and did barely hinder his fighting. He would heal the cut rather quickly.  
In the end, Findt was the only one still standing, the surviving civilians had managed to flee and all the attackers had painted the soil red. The witcher was surrounded by burning buildings that would be nothing but coal and ashes by the morning. Ghouls and other monsters would feast on the dead.  
Findt was breathing heavily, he wiped sweat and (his enemies’) blood off his face and sheathed his sword on his back before he ran off into the woods, on the path following the tracks of thrown up dirt. Like usually he felt dead inside about what had happened but for once he felt the urge to get drunk. He didn’t like killing men, but he never hesitated when it came to defending his own life.  
The vegetation around him was dense, it was dark but that didn’t bother him. He still on track but observing his surroundings while he kept running. He was ready to reach for his sword at any given moment, on his back it simply didn’t hinder his movements.  
After a while the tracks became less chaotic, Goldy had slowed down, but Findt kept following.   
A few miles from the village, in between massive trees, Findt finally met the two.  
Goldy was drinking from the nearby stream and the Cintran swiftly turned around when they heard Findt approaching, their stolen sword pointed at him, metal sheen in almost complete darkness.  
“It’s me,” Findt said softly not bothering to get his sword out.  
“Thank you for helping me,” they said and relaxed, putting the sword down. “That was unexpected.”  
“Yeah.” Findt paused to check on Goldy. Thankfully the mare had not been injured. “We cannot stay here,” he said when he returned to the Cintran.  
“What’s your name?” the Cintran asked.  
“Findt,” the witcher muttered. “Your’s?”  
“Connari.” They hesitated as if thinking about how to word their next question. “Are– are you a witcher?”  
Was that fear Findt could hear in their voice? “I am,” replied Findt.  
“Never met a witcher before. I know your people are incredibly strong and that you slay beasts for a living.” Connari sounded amazed and scared at the same time but not disgusted or hateful like other people.  
“We should get moving again,” Findt said and clicked his tongue.  
Goldy raised her head and walked over to where Findt was standing.  
“Where are we going?” Connari asked.  
“Do you ever stop talking?” He paused and turned to Goldy. “We’re going north, as far away as possible. Hop on, I’ll walk.”  
Findt did not exactly like that but they were exhausted and stressed already, and they were just a young fragile human, Findt, on the other hand, could take it.  
The witcher started leading them through the woods, off the roads where they were well hidden.  
“Is it true that you can see in the dark?” Connari asked after a while of silence.  
“Yeah.”  
“I mean I saw you do magic… but can you turn people into frogs?”  
“No.”  
“Are you emotionless?”  
“No.”  
“Oh,” Cannari chuckled. “I don’t get why people don’t like you then. I mean you do an important job. You kill monsters so they don’t kill us. Hell, you just saved my fucking arse.”  
The witcher did not reply.  
“I bet you are wondering how I know to not touch the pointy end of a sword.”  
He was not wondering anything but he remained silent while he walked alongside Goldy at a brisk pace.  
“My father was an armourer… no swordsman but he taught me the basics.”  
“Yeah, I can tell,” Findt said. And the silence that followed told him that he had picked the wrong words. “I mean there are things in your technique that could use some polishing. You don’t straighten your arms when you block and you swing too much when getting ready to strike – the opponent will clearly see where you are aiming, you make it easier for them to block you then.”  
“You should teach me, Master Witcher. I would love to be a monster-slayer.”  
“You wouldn’t. There are better jobs out there.”  
“Why don’t you let me try? If I die on the way, I die. Consider it an internship.”  
Findt looked up at them. They couldn’t be serious. “Hmm,” he said after a long pause.  
It was not clear if this was a dismissive or an accepting ‘hmm’ but Connari didn’t ask. 

  
***

At dawn the witcher and Connari arrived at a bigger town, they didn’t stop in it though. They travelled a bit further to set up a camp close to a trading highway. Connari was barely able to sit up straight on Goldy, they were tired and now the adrenaline had worn off, they felt like their body had been twisted in unnatural ways. They were glad when they stopped.  
“You can have a nap, I’ll leave Goldy with you and go try to catch us rabbit and find a few herbs I need. Just don’t wander off.” Findt said.  
Connari nodded and watched how the witcher disappeared between the trees. They leaned back against a tree, keeping their sword near them. Now it was day and they were far away from the attacked town so they felt safe enough to fall asleep after a while.

***

  
When Connari woke up, they saw Findt kneeling on the ground. He had lit a small fire, above it what looked like two fully skinned and pepped rabbits were frying. He had his eyes closed – Findt was meditating.  
Connari sat up, they didn’t plan on disturbing his peace. But at their movement, he opened his eyes.  
“Tell me what you did in the tavern when we got attacked?” he asked.  
Connari was caught off guard and just stared at him, the last question they had suspected. “I was hiding. I ran away from home.”  
But the witcher’s face didn’t darken at that. “I get that. What happened?”  
“I dishonoured my family. I’m not royalty in any way, it doesn’t befit someone born a girl to do ‘boy stuff’,” Connari explained, they felt like lying to Findt would be useless.  
Findt understood and for a moment he thought about telling them but then decided that it was no time yet. 


	3. Tavern's Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findt takes a contract to investigate a series of killings in the area and follows a lead to the ruin of a tavern, Connari in tow he starts to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for spiders and other crawly things, I didn't put it into the tags because every story has a different monster and different things going on.  
> Anyways, enjoy the read and leave feedback if you please.

With a deep hum, Findt looked around in their room. The room was stuffy, it smelled like wet dog and old smoke. The only source of light was the window in the roof, it sent a ray of light to the floor – reflected by dust particles. There was a cheap, unlit candle on the table in the corner of the room. Two separate beds at the wall to the hallway.

When Connari came in they let themselves fall onto the first bed, which let Findt smile. He sat down at the table and lit the candle with the Sign of Igni before setting down the pouch and getting out the things he needed. He was running short on potions and he had to compensate for that by making a few more. 

Few of them were antidotes and thing for emergencies, others he took strategically before battles.

Connari watched him work for a bit before falling asleep. In the morning the two would go on the first quest together and they had to make sure they had enough sleep. 

People kept disappearing in this town and Findt could really use the coin.

***

By noon Findt had found some tracks he could work with. 

Connari was following him, and they were quiet for once and tried their best to let him work. They were impressed and slightly intimidated by the witcher’s skills and confidence. 

Findt was (for the first time since Connari was with him) carrying both swords on his back. He was in his leather armour and his hair was out of his face. His golden eyes were darting around as he assessed their surroundings. 

There were small tracks on the ground, almost invisible to the naked eye. Between the trees, something man-made came into view. The ruins of a building destroyed at least a century ago. What was left of the walls was overgrown by plants and moss. 

Findt froze and looked at it as if he was paying respects to what had happened before he motioned Connari to follow him. 

“What happened here?” Connari asked quietly. 

“It was a tavern, the kind that mainly serves the upper class, priests and other wealthy people. One night a mage, who had been staying there turned insane and blew himself up. People of the region avoid this place, say it is haunted.” Findt looked down at the tracks again and started following them.  
Connari frowned. There was not a lot left to be haunted. Just pieces of the surrounding walls were still standing. Slowly Connari followed, trying to be as quiet as possible.

When the two stepped closer to the ruins it seemed like the sky darkened and the wind sped up.

Connari watched how Findt walked around the ruins, searching for something.

A smirk played around his lips as he saw something, there was a place where the rubble was lying differently, he went there, the Cintran kept following him. The witcher still did not draw his sword. 

Then Connari could see it too, a huge gap between the rubble, if the tavern had had a basement that hole had to lead down there. Findt grunted as he squatted down to see what was going on down there, while the human only saw a mouth of darkness.

With an expression of concern, Connari watched how he climbed down and jumped the rest of the way, hesitantly they followed, climbed down backwards. After a couple of feet, they realised that their feet had nothing to stand on, so they jumped. 

The fall took longer than expected, they fell several meters. Blue light flashed up when they hit the ground and the impact didn’t hurt.

“Don’t do this again,” Findt grumbled and looked at her. 

“Sorry.” Connari stared into the dark, not sure where he was standing. “Thanks.”

“Shh,” the witcher said and turned around. There was a crickling sound, like leaves being blown in the wind.

Connari still could not see anything but darkness and the tiny bit of light coming from the surface. They heard the singing of Findt’s sword when he unsheathed it.

The crickle became louder until it didn’t sound like leaves anymore, rather like thousands of tiny legs crawling over the stone floor.  
“Don't move, don't even breathe,” Findt whispered. 

Connari tensed up and got their sword out. They closed their eyes and as soon as they felt the spiders crawling over them, they held their breath. 

The second the spiders had passed the two, the basement was lit up by a flame — Findt had cast fire on some of the spiders, which lit up like matches. 

Connari could now see their surroundings clearly. The spiders had the size of a hand and eight, extremely hairy legs.

The other spiders rushed towards the few on fire as if trying to help them but catching fire themselves. Findt's silver blade shone, reflecting the light of the growing flames and more and more spider caught on fire. 

The witcher turned around on his heels to face a part of the basement which remained in shadows. 

“Stay behind me,” he advised the Cintran. “The spiders are only the pilot fish. They can't eat people.” Findt held his sword in his right hand, his footing stable while his right hand still hovered, ready to cast another Sign. He had implied that there was another threat down here. His golden eyes were glowing in the fiery shine as he stared down, where the basement continued. 

Connari did not hesitate and stepped behind Findt. Now, they heard it too — steps in the dark. A huge insectoid monster, several meters wide, appeared in their field of view.

The rest of the spiders, who had not been burned yet turned around and headed back to the two.  
Findt's hand moved swiftly in the air as he drew the Sign of Yrden, where the bigger monster was standing, rendering it immobile. So Findt could swiftly slay the smaller spiders with his blade, the rest he set on fire. 

Once the last spider had stopped moving, Findt jumped at the monster and struck it a few times until he stabbed it through the head.  
Findt pulled it back out and looked up at them, in the fading light of burning spiders. 

“Are we done?” Connari asked, trembling a bit. 

“No,” the witcher replied and sheathed his sword. He walked over to the wall and took a torch out of its bracket, he lit it with a Sign and then handed it to Connari. “Keep your sword at the ready and follow me.” 

Connari nodded and followed him to where the monster had come from. The burnt shells of the spiders crack beneath their feet.  
“If you still want to hunt monsters after this, so be it.” Findt stopped to look at them. 

“Just know that this kind never lives alone and that it will get rough when several of them attack. Stick with me and do as I say and you should be alright.”  
They nodded and followed Findt, the torch in one, their sword in the other hand. 

The professional monster-slayer was walking at a swift pace. His left hand quickly reached over his shoulder and his sword jumped into his hand, just on time before he leapt forward to attack the monster. 

The monster was a huge badger, as big as a horse. It had glowing eyes and it was incredibly strong. 

Connari stayed back at the wall and watched the fight unravel. They watched how Findt dodged the monster’s paws. It looked like a dance, an abstract ballet.  
The fight only lasted a minute and then there was silence. Findt looked at Connari and raised both eyebrows before he turned back to the monster and beheaded it. 

“Now. We are done.” Findt said and started dragging the badger’s head towards the exit. 

*** 

The man flinched as Findt dropped the still dripping head of the gigantic badger onto the floor in front of his feet. 

“You specifically stated you wanted proof,” Findt said with a calm tone, “I’m sorry.”

The man frowned. “Here, Witcher,” the man gave Findt a bag of gold. “It would be great if you left town now.”

Findt nodded and took the gold. “Have a good day,” said Findt and turned around. 

Connari was waiting outside and headed with him towards Goldy. 

“How did it go?” the Cintran asked. 

“We got paid, that's all that matters. Time to get out of this town.”

“How are you not bothered by people being mean, even after you did your job?” 

“Witchers got not a great reputation. The Wolves got the best of us all but even they are outcasts. The only thing I can do is to be polite and do my job to the best of my ability.”

Connari nodded and waited until Findt got on his horse so they could sit down behind him. 

Slowly Goldy started moving and once they had left town Findt sped up the horse. 

“Have you made your decision yet?” asked Findt after they had ridden for a while. 

“Yes.” Connari made a dramatic pause. “You saved my life now you need to take care of me. Plus I really want to become a monster-slayer.” 

Findt groaned. “Terrific!” The sarcasm in his voice was hard to miss. 

“Alternatively I could help you to find a guild. You would make a great craftsperson.”

Connari chuckled. “I already found my guild.”

“You know that you are too old to become a witcher, right? I mean I could teach you about monsters, basic alchemy and magic but you won't have the mutations full witchers have. And we do have them for a reason. Monsters are a tough enemy, our bodies are perfected to deal with them. Without the mutation, you would need to compensate with skill elsewhere or you are dead pretty quickly.”

“Yeah. I know. And I don’t care. I don’t want to get old and regret that I never followed my dream.”

Findt could understand that. Even though he had never chosen to be a witcher he did understand the thrill it gave to people.


	4. The Monster Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findt and Connari get hired by the court magician to take care of a monster that has been haunting one of Lyria's hunting chatêaus. It doesn't take long until they realise there is more to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes I keep posting out of chronological order. I'm sorry. The stories are closed so I think it is not that bad.

  
It was noon and Findt and Connari had just arrived in the city on their way to Lyria.

  
“Hey witcher,” a man called out. “You need to travel on, you can’t stay here.”

  
Findt turned his head and looked at the man. Connari froze, they understood why witchers were treated that way, and they made perfect outsiders. It was still wrong to treat them like that.

  
“We are only travelling though, don’t worry.” Connari gave the man the most charming smile they had. While Findt kept his neutral face, okay, maybe he was slightly grumpy.

  
“No need,” a woman called out. “You two, come with me. I could use your aid.”

  
The woman had blond, almost white hair, she wore a fur coat over her teal dress. She was a mage, Findt could sense it.

  
Findt tilted his head and lifted his brows a bit.

  
“My name is Ara. I’m the mage in court. The earl is hiring a witcher to take care of a beast that is haunting the hunting castle in the hills.”  
“Hm,” Findt grumbled. “Am I the first one?”

  
Ara nodded. “Your kind has become rare.”

  
“What’s the pay?” Connari asked. It was usually Findt who asked, but he didn’t seem to bother.

  
“A thousand. The monster has scared the people for long enough. The earl really wants to make it stop, it’s been there for a few years now and it keeps snatching people every now and then.”

  
“What is known about the monster? Did anyone survive an attack?”

  
Ara shook her head. “We know it hunts under a new moon. Nobody has been up to the castle in a while. People try to avoid the woods around it.”

  
Findt looked at her trying to see why she was holding back information. “Alright tell us where we can find the haunted castle.”

  
“I will lead you there,” Ara said and started walking.

  
The group left the city on a narrow road which lead into the mountains. The forest was dense and had been kept natural. Most trees had not regrown their leaves yet.

  
The castle even looked like it had been abandoned for several years.

  
“Be careful in there,” Ara said. 

  
“Why do you say that?” Connari asked wondering why she mentioned it now, specifically.

  
The mage didn’t reply.

  
“Because other’s tried before and they did not succeed.” Findt turned to Ara and expected some kind of hostile response.

  
But Ara nodded slowly and buried her hands under her coat. “Just take care of it, witcher. Kill it.” She put a lot of emphasis on the latter. 

  
The trio walked in though the main gate of the castle, it was not huge, clearly just a hunting chatêau, nothing too fancy. People had died here. In the main hall they found the first group of skeletons, everything was covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust.

  
Findt looked around, observing carefully. All of a sudden he stopped, he had heard something inside the building. Connari and Ara followed, neither of them said anything. 

  
Connari saw how Findt’s hand reached the steel-sword, ready to unsheathe it. Maybe it was not the monster? Steel for humans, right?

  
Findt’s steps speed up as went down a set of stone stairs to what looked like the kitchen.

  
Connari slowed down, they didn’t want to be in the way. They decided to follow a bit slower, and careful, hand on their sword’s handle.

  
Findt headed where he could hear rapid breathing; behind the open door to the hall. He quickly pulled it open and grabbed the person standing behind it by the neck. It was a young man, maybe sixteen. He was not armed so Findt let him go, but Findt stayed vigilant, ready to cast a Sign to pin the boy down if needed.

  
“So– Sorry, sir,” the boy stuttered, he was pale and scared. Findt looked threatening to the kid.

  
“What are you doing here?”

  
“I was just curious,” the boy answered.

  
Findt knew he was lying but he didn’t bother, Findt was not there to punish the boy. “Have you seen the monster?”

  
The boy was still shaking and he nodded. “It avoids the light, it looks rather human and still has its clothes on but it’s hungry and just an animal.”

  
The boy became more and more frightened as Findt’s facial expression darkened. “Connari, where’s the sorceress?” Findt asked, clear anger in his voice.

  
Connari spun around, but Ara was gone.

  
“Run boy and better don’t come back, the monster is dangerous.” Findt let go of the boy to let him escape.

  
The boy nodded and quickly ran out of the kitchen, up the sitars and out of the castle.

  
“What? Where’d she go?” Connari looked around, not understanding why Ara had disappeared.

  
“The monster is not a monster, it is someone who was cursed. Didn’t the last earl go missing on the hunt?”

  
“They suspect he got killed by the wolfs...” Connari replied, trying to figure out what was on Findt’s mind.

  
“She ran away, protralled whatever. I think she might have cursed the old earl. We need to find out why. Do you think you can try and

find her? Keep her distracted and away from here.” Findt looked at Connari. “In the meantime I’ll prepare what I need to uncast the spell.”

  
Connari nodded. “You taught me a lot. I got this.”

  
“Don’t get killed, kid.”

  
“I won’t,” Connari said and gave the witcher a smile before swiftly jumping up the stairs. They signed when they were back outside, they could see the boy’s trace clearly but the Ara was gone.

  
Connari drank the vial of a potion that would enhance their senses, it was a lot less potent than the elixirs Findt was swallowing on a regular basis which also made it less toxic to their human body. Connari’s goal was to build a slow tolerance against the potions over time.

  
Quickly, they mounted their horse and followed the thin signature of ozone, leftovers of a spell. They sped up their horse, to follow through the dense forest, off-road. They had to duck in order to not get struck by branches. The trail seemed endless. 

  
Their way went up and down the hill, on and on. Connari prayed that they would not have to face Ara, she was powerful without a doubt.

  
Connari knew a few Signs but had never used them in combat before, if their survival depended on it they would try to utilise them.

  
Between the trees, Connari could see a figure. Ara stood there, facing the monster-slayer in training like she had been expecting them.

  
Connari instinctively reached for their sword and barely managed to dodge the ball of energy Ara had fired towards them.

  
Connari’s horse kept running towards Ara, and Connari signalled him to go around, while they turned their head, keeping an eye on Ara.

  
Ara hummed something in Elder and became incredibly fast as she ran after Connari, exactly where they wanted her. They led her away from Findt and the monster.

  
“I know what you did!” Connari called out. They had to make sure Ara knew the stakes. They had to use their brain to outsmart Ara if that was even possible.

  
It was slowly getting darker, the sun was setting behind thick clouds, between the trees Connari could see the lights of a village or town and headed towards it while checking if the mage was still behind them. She was, even gaining.

  
Suddenly Connari could hear a bang ripping through the air. They turned around the sorceress was gone and there was another trail leading back to the hunting chatêau.

  
“Bitch,” Connari cursed as they made their horse turn around. They had to catch up or Findt could be in trouble, so they rode as quickly as they could.

***

  
Meanwhile, Findt knelt down in the hall of the chatêau. He had already prepared the herbs he needed to uncast the spell, which Ara had brought upon the old earl. First, he had to knock the monster out, for he had to wait for the darkness to take over – He needed the moon to be up, so he was meditating, until it was night.

  
He drank a Cat potion, enhancing his ability to see in darkness. His pupils now filled his entire iris, making his eyes pure black. He made sure he could access his silver sword, as a last resort, nothing more before he stepped down into the basement.

  
Between the smell of rotting corpses and huge barrels where once the wine had been stored he could feel its presence. With a gloved hand, he stroked a strain of dark hair out of his face, while he watched his footing. The floor was covered in bones, mostly human ones, indication that the creature had been living here for a long time now. This was the nest.

  
Behind one of the emptied shelves, he could hear a low growl and raised both his hands, in case he needed to cast some magic.

The creature jumped at him, from behind the shelf and tossed Findt across the narrow room, Findt hit the wall on the other side.

He got back up right away and cast a spell which held the creature back so he could walk closer and hit its head with the handle of the sword. Though the creature managed to get free and attacked him again, almost managed to cut through his leather armour with its claws.

  
Now Findt cursed and got back up. He cast the sign of Aard to push the creature against the wall, with such power that it stopped moving. Findt knew it had not been enough to kill it, thankfully.

  
Findt ignited the herbs, using the knowledge gained at his witcher school and from books to its best, to transform the creature back to the man it once was.

  
The cursed earl howled as the smoke touched his skin, screamed as he inhaled it. It bent under the pain and Findt took a few steps back just to be sure.  
The cursed earl got on his feet, still screaming in pain and leapt towards the witcher. Findt was barely able to dodge the attack. He had to keep going until the transformation was complete. Findt did manage to dodge most of the attacks, but at the end of the fight, he was pretty bumped up.

  
From outside he could hear a woosh, major magic was being cast, Ara the terrible was back

  
Findt lifted both his eyebrows, tackled the earl and pinned him down, while he kept seizing beneath the witcher’s grip. Findt cast the Sign of Quen, hoping it would shield them both from any magical attacks. He could already hear fast steps coming down, his pupils contracted as it got a lot brighter in the basement.

  
Ara needed light in order to see in the complete darkness – a flame was 

  
Beneath his grip the earl had stopped moving, he was back a man now and had passed out from the immense pain. Findt let go of him and shifted so he was positioned between the earl and the mage.

  
Ara saw the earl and Findt knew she didn’t like that he was almost human again.

  
“If you want to kill him, you have to take me down first,” he said firmly.

  
“Have to kill you anyway, nobody can know.”

  
“One thing I wonder though – you knew I could find out. Why did you hire me then?”

  
“Because Earl Joffrey asked me to. Refusing would have made him suspicious.”

  
Findt nodded. He drew his steel sword and grabbed it with both hands.

  
The mage giggled and cast fire into their direction in one continuous ray while she approached the two slowly. The Quen started to flicker under the attack and stuff lying around caught on fire.

  
Findt let go of the sword with his right hand to focus on strengthening the Quen.

  
The mage seemed to find this amusing. “Griffin,” she murmured. “Little magic tricks they taught you there.”

  
“Fuck you,” Findt said and kept holding the Quen. If she kept going like this she would run out of stamina soon.

  
Suddenly there was silence and the attack was over, only the golden glow of the Sign lit the room. But Findt didn’t let his guard down. Maybe this was a trick, it could be.

  
But then he heard a thud, back where Ara had been standing, abruptly he dropped the protective aura and his pupils dilated fully again, which allowed him to see further.

  
Connari was standing at the foot of the stairs, her sword was bloody. They had taken down Ara. Findt relaxed as he realised what had happened.  
“Thank you,” Findt said. Which made Connari look up. “Keep an eye on her.”

  
“On it. I could use some light though,” Connari said.

  
“Oh, right.” Findt cast a Sign to help them see before he turned around to the earl. He was alive and scared as hell.

  
“Please don’t hurt me, master witcher,” the Earl stuttered.

  
“I won’t you are safe now. Let’s take you home.” Findt extended a hand to help him up. The earl would live, the monster was gone. Their task was done, but Findt wanted to take him to his son, make sure the earl would be taken care of. The earl was still panicking and Findt was not really good at calming him down. Connari was a lot better at that but they were busy.

  
Findt stopped over the body of Ara and drew his silver sword to stab her again, just to make sure.

  
***

  
“You did slay the monster, the real monster. She cursed him. I’m glad you didn’t kill my father,” the young earl said after Connari and Findt had told him what had happened.

  
“Ara tasked us ‘taking care of the beast’ when she hired us, only later she mentioned that she wanted him killed. But we knew something was off, besides attempting to cure him was the only right way to go, your highness.”

  
“Well, then I’ll pay you the promised coin. I don’t mind you killed her. I understand you had to and you saved me the trouble with persecuting her.” The young earl said.

  
Findt knew this was not how it usually worked, even Connari knew that by now. He gave the earl and his father a respectful nod when receiving the payment.


	5. Blood and Snow (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findt is hired to take care of a monster of icy nature, high up in the mountains, but that's just the beginning...

“I know for a fact that the most witchers hide in winter, they return to their keep or in a tavern and stay there. And I slowly get why they do that,” Findt grumbled. “I am getting tired of being kicked out of taverns just for being a witcher, especially when it is so fucking cold outside.”

Goldy sorted in response to his voice. 

“I love you too,” Findt said with a smiled and patted the mare’s flank and ran his gloved hand over her red-brown fur. “We really should get going. Or we won’t be done until sunset.” 

Findt mounted his horse and they started moving slowly. The two went off-road and though the thick forest in a fast trot. Findt took his feet out of the stirrups and leaned forward to not get hit in the face by branches.

The winters in the north were rough. Freezing cold and even Findt, as a mutant, struggled with it and the icy winds of winter. 

But now he had a job to do. The region was plagued by a spirit for several years now, it was time to get rid of it. The spectre came from the mountains, or rather from the forest on the bottom of them and brought strong snowstorms with it that lasted for several days. In the last three years alone the occurrence had directly or indirectly killed fifteen people. 

With the coin for completing the task, Findt could get through the winter without having to do more contracts, spend the winter in a tavern and do more reading about new monsters and maybe even experiment with new potions. And meditate more.

Findt tightened his coat around his shoulders and kept bending down. The snow was getting deeper and deeper, Goldy seemed to be struggling. 

“It’s okay,” Findt said and ordered the mare to slow down. “I’ll leave you alone and continue alone. I hope you will be okay, run back to the village if you want to. You should be safe down there.”

The mare snorted and kept still so he could get his silver blade and a few potions out of the pouch on the saddle. Findt patted the mare’s flank. “See you later, old lady.”

Goldy snorted and moved her head to see how Findt started walking through the snow, further uphill. 

Findt clenched his fists, his leather gloves squeaked. He reached back to adjust his coat, so he was able to access his two swords. His steel short-sword had a handled with leather wrapped around the handle, the knob was tapered and the crossbar in a right angle to blade and handle. His silver blade had a round knob and the crossbar was angled. The handle felt different in his hand and even with gloves on he was unlikely to draw the wrong sword. On most missions, the silver sword stayed in the pouch on Goldy, it was not smart to show such an expensive thing around all the time. But now he needed it, or he could need it. To fight some monsters silver was crucial. 

It was early in the day, the sky was cloudy but the snow made everything seem bright. The woods were wrapped into silence. Every now and then an evergreen branch bent under the weight of snow, and let the snow fall to the ground with a rustling noise. 

Findt breath was steamy and it was too cold for the snow to crunch beneath his feet. 

The wind speed up and the evergreens around him started to sing. Snow started falling from the sky and from the trees — Findt’s presence had been noticed. He also knew what he was dealing with; an iceborn. They were extremely rare and Findt had never met one before, they were extremely strong and able to control weather. 

“Sweet,” said a deep, icy voice, “after all these years they finally send a witcher.”

A smile played around the edges of Findt’s lips. The weather around him grew to a storm, snow fell so heavily that could barely see a few meters in front of him. He had to rely more on other senses and most importantly his instincts. 

“I’m really lonely you know,” the voice continued. 

Findt reached back and drew his steel sword. “People in Morgrad died. They are tired of you badgering them, so the Duke of Helmheim looked for someone who is qualified to take care of you.”

“We will see if you are indeed qualified.” The voice paused. “Call me Crivat. And who are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare, Crivat.” Findt let go of the sword with his right and to cast the sign of Quen as he sensed something or someone approaching him. 

A slim figure, two meters tall came at Findt though the coat of thick snowflakes. It had a roughly human shape, pale skin and glowing blue eyes. Crivat.  
Findt tried to strike the iceborn, but Crivat grabbed the sword and shattered the blade. 

“Fuck,” Findt cursed. He jumped to the left and dodged a punch. Findt threw Aard at him, pushed Crivat back and against a tree which turned into ice instantly. 

Crivat started laughing and the earth started shaking. Findt almost prostrated. Time to find out what worked. Findt fired Igni at Crivat but nothing happened.  
Findt realised this was indeed serious, his enemy was powerful. He cast Yrden and it worked. It trapped Crivat in the glowing circle. Findt drew his silver sword, surprisingly Crivat flinched (as much as possible under the spell) at the sight of the blade. 

Findt’s mood lightened, this was his chance. He attacked Crivat with the sword and only managed to cut him before the Yrden broke. 

Crivat howled and leashed out at the witcher, who barely managed to dodge the icy hand. “You’re doing great,” Crivat hissed. “Better than I expected. Unfortunately, I will have to kill you.”

“Who kills the other first wins.” Findt pushed Crivat back with Aard as the iceborne came too close to the witcher.  
“Deal!” Crivat responded and sent a burst of icy wind towards Findt. 

Findt had to lean forward in order to not lose balance. He cast another Sign of Yrden, trapping the iceborn in place. Again he tried to stun Crivat with Aard — the iceborn was puzzled for a few moments, giving Findt the chance to attack and behead him. 

A huge shock-wave that kicked Findt off his feet. He fell back and was out for a few moments. When he opened his eyes, the sky above him was blue, slowly getting darker with the setting sun.

He grunted as he got up. Where Crivat had stood there was a crater in the snow. “Sweet.” Findt hummed and looked around in the trees around him to get one of the ice-shards as a trophy to collect his reward. 

***

It was still freezing but a lot less windy when Findt was on his way back. His footprints had been scattered by the wind, he had to find his horse. He whistled and heard Goldy neigh about five-hundred meters down the hill. Findt looked around and now noticed that he was leaving a trail of blood, fresh red spots in the white snow. 

“Fuck,” Findt looked down on himself, trying to find his injury. His adrenaline was too high, he had not noticed he had been hurt. 

The bleeding came from a wound at his left thigh, probably caused by a shard upon explosion, it was bleeding more than he thought, he had moved quite fast. He fiddled with the pouch on his bag to pull out a piece of canvas and tie it tightly around his leg, where the wound was. 

Findt whistled once again and waited until Goldy had found her way to him so she could carry him out of there. 

As the two started moving downhill and out of the forest, towards the castle Morgrad, Findt was still clenching his wound. Holding the reigns with his off-hand. Now his adrenaline rush was over he started to feel the pain. This needed fixing. The wound was bleeding though the bright dressing, it was not stopping. He was still losing blood rapidly. Cursing once again, he felt how he got weaker. He sped up Goldy, he couldn’t pass out now, not until he had made it back to Morgrad. 

When they arrived at the castle, Findt was almost out of it. He slid off the horse and reached into his pouch to get a potion which he swallowed in one gulp. He sighed audibly and grabbed the shard to carry it inside. The guards eyed him but recognised him from earlier and didn’t say anything. 

Good mother doesn't see me, Findt thought. He barely remembered her. But she had been hellcat, getting mad at him when he got himself dirty or hurt. Findt didn’t think Hell existed, but if it did he hoped she went there. His dad too, maybe his dad too. Findt could now see the brainfog in front of his eyes.  
“Here’s your shard, your grace. I took care of him.” Findt said and handed the shard over to Duke Helmheim, with a bow. 

The duke nodded. “It took quite a toll on you, witcher. It’s time you rest. Do you have accommodation in town?”

“No, your grace. I initially didn’t plan on staying longer,” Findt said softly, he looked rather pale and had trouble standing upright. The potion had now stopped the bleeding but he was still weak and needed rest.

“You can stay here until you have recovered,” the duke offered. 

“There is no need, your grace.” 

“Please, I insist.” 

Finally, Findt nodded. “Thank you very much, your grace.” He felt how the Duke’s gaze was resting on the sword-handles over his shoulder, specifically how one of his swords was missing. 

Findt had wrapped the parts of his steel sword, he had recovered, into a blanket hoping to get it fixed somehow. The sword had been custom made for him and it had been the best one he had ever owned. He was sure nauseous but he had a bad feeling about this. 

One of the Duke’s servants led Findt to the room he was supposed to stay in. As soon as he was alone he knelt down and the carpet facing the door, to meditated and get some rest. For some reason, he felt like he needed to recover as much and as fast as possible. 

He sat there for a while. Nothing happened, people walked past his room but nobody slowed down or even stopped. Not until past midnight when twelve well trained and armed guards stopped in front of the door. 

Findt exhaled sharply, opened his eyes and rose. He went over to put out the one candle in the room and pulled a dagger from his boot.  
The door swung open and the group of guards entered one of them cursed while one lit at a candle. 

Findt focused on a calm feeling at the centre of his body and leaned a bit forward to cast Quen on himself. Without his sword, he had to dodge until he could take a weapon from one of the guards. 

In the flickering light of the torch, the guards glared at him. He was standing there, the yellow glow of Quen around him and the sheen of his dagger in his left hand. 

Then one of the guards, who wanted to be a big boy, did the first step, attacked Findt with his sword. The guard lunged out with his sword, Findt knew exactly where he would be striking and dodged with ease. 

The witcher went for the guard's open abdomen and slid the thin dagger in between the scales of the man’s armour, quickly grabbing the guard’s sword before he would let go.

The rest of the gang was now attacking at once. Findt was in the offensive, attacked the guard closest to him. The guard tried to parry, too slow. Findt’s blade cut through their neck. They fell, with a clang their armoured body hit the stone floor. 

Findt cast Aard on the floor in an attempt to stun everyone around him and kick them off their feet. He jumped over them, cut two of them down on the way but one of them managed to stick their sword up, unexpectedly to Findt, whose Quen broke when the blade hit the body. 

A few of the guards managed to get up in time to run after the fleeing witcher. 

Findt ran down the hall, his left hand clinging to the guard’s sword, his right drew another Quen. He ran down the stairs and was promptly noticed by another group of guards, while the pack behind him came closer. 

The guards attacked him when he was close enough, all five at once. One managed to land a hit on him and broke his Quen, the one guard was pushed back the rest was still onto him. He was slowed down and didn’t manage to dodge in time, the attacker’s sword left a deep wound on his left cheek. He didn’t manage to move left since someone was standing there and was cut at the right side of his abdomen. The dark-blue canvas shirt gaped open and Findt felt how pain shot through him. He was slowed down by the injury but managed to strike down one more guard to get some space. He cast Aard, the explosion extinguished the torches around them and kicked everyone but Findt of their feet. 

He stumbled towards the exit, taking out all lights in his way with some non-sign magic, the darkness gave him an advantage, he needed that advantage.  
Outside between barrels and boxes he collapsed, while his left hand was still holding on to the sword, his right one was pressing on the wound in his side. He could feel the warmth of his blood and how it ran down his arm and side where it could not be absorbed by the fabric of his clothes anymore.  
Nearby, he heard guards yelling to each other. They were looking for him. Findt tried to get up, fell a few times but then managed to get back on his feet, he carried himself to the stables.

Thankfully nobody had bothered to remove Goldy’s saddle. With shaking hands, Findt reached into the saddle-pouch, searched it until he found a Kiss, the last one he had left. The one he kept for when he was dying. 

Findt almost collapsed again before he finally got into his saddle. He used his belt to tie himself to it, so he wouldn’t fall off the horse.

“Run!” he said to Goldy as loud as he managed and spurred her one time to get her to move. “Run to Lady Kobelawa as fast as you can. She’ll care for you.”  
The mare snorted in response to her master’s voice as she ran, ignoring the chaos to their left and right. She carried Findt out of the town, and didn’t slow down, the road was well known to Goldy and snow was thrown up by her hoofs. 

The night was starry and cold. Findt hummed to himself before he passed out for good. The Kiss potion had stopped the bleeding but Findt was already weakened and the potion had an intoxicating effect, even on his mutated body. 

Goldy kept galloping, down the road and towards the mountains once again, this time towards north-east. She felt Findt saggy body bouncing up and down with every step she took, she didn’t slow down. 

Goldy ran through woods and over fields like a hundred wolves were after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a frame story (pls google if you don't know what it means), the story within will be posted next... before I close the frame with posting Blood and Snow (2/2).


	6. Lady Kobelawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Findt can't stop himself from getting involved into men's business and ends up meeting Brigid Kobelawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super long, I know. I just couldn't help it. Explaining a deep friendship and how it came together takes a few words more than expected. I would have plit it into 2 or even 3 parts but I can't have you wait for the second half of Blood and Snow any longer :3

# I

It was spring in the north. The trees and bushes at the roadside were in their full bloom, spreading a sweet scent and birds were singing their mating-songs.

Findt had just finished a job in the mountains and was now heading south, stopping in towns along the way to look for jobs. Almost a year had passed since he had left Kaer Seren, which had been his home for almost his entire life. He was a witcher now and out here on his own. 

The witcher knew he had to stop being soft, he had to harden his exterior or he would get himself killed in this world. Out here he had realised how people lived in fear, and how one creature or monster could mess with entire regions. 

Nobody was with him on the chartway. The grass was growing a few centimetres tall on the space between the wheel ruts, which had the same faint ochre colour like the soil around Hengfors. Findt’s horse was going in a working-pace trot and he was bouncing up and down with the rhythm of the steps. Suddenly, he heard something and mad his horse stop. 

Over the ambient sound of the woods, he could hear the growling and howl of wolves. It was the middle of the day, this was unusual. He had to go check it out. 

Findt turned his horse a bit and started to lead it off-road towards the sounds. 

The further they got from the road the denser the trees and bushes became.

He rode as quickly as he could without crashing into anything or getting himself or his horse injured. 

Between the trees he could see a pack of wolves attacking a woman, she was already on the ground. 

Findt's left hand reached above his shoulder and he unsheathed his steels sword. He rode past them and struck down the first wolf, he quickly dismounted and brought himself in between the wolves and the woman. 

She was young, maybe twenty-two. She was bleeding, one of the wolves had already injured, he had to act fast, she needed help. She had attempted to defend herself with a stick but it had made the wolves just a bit more aggressive. 

He used Aard to push the attacking beasts away, and then attacked them one by one, eliminating them.  
Once the last of them had stopped moving, he sheathed his sword and bent down. 

His amber eyes scanned her, seeing if she had other injuries. She was shaking, adrenaline rushing through her.  
“Thank you for helping me. That was close.”

“What are you doing out here, off the roads?” Findt turned around to get his medicine-pouch from his horse. 

He had to stop the bleed and clean the wound properly. Back on the road, he could hear men shout chaotically. 

“I have to get out of here,” the woman said softly. “They are looking for me and they mustn’t find me,” she said quietly. She tried to get up but was held back by Findt. 

“You can’t get up, you will make the muscle tear even further,” he cursed under his breath and dumped a quarter of a bottle of vodka on. 

The woman inhaled sharply but managed to not scream, to not give away their position. 

“Just breathe,” Findt said. His senses where sharp. The men were still far enough away. 

The witcher closed his eyes and started reciting a spell, his hands started to glow with orange light as he held them over the injury. He was sharing some of his energy with her, he had some to spare, it would decrease the risk of infection and also allow her to stand up. He held his hands over the injury as long as he could. 

The men were searching the woods and one of the parties came dangerously close — within human hearing distance. 

Findt skilfully wrapped a clean canvas bandage around the injury before helping her up. 

“Now we need to hurry,” he whispered and lead her over to his horse. “Hop on. It will strain your leg less.” He helped her get on to the horse to sit in front of the saddle. Findt hopped onto the horse behind her. 

“You get in trouble too when they find you with me,” she said quietly. 

“Right, then we need to get you out of here, just give me directions to a place where we can hide.” Findt gave his horse the signal to start moving, away from the men of the angry mob. “Just for context, what have you done that they want you?” 

“I’m a herbalist. I tried to help someone in the nearby village, even though I did my best, they didn’t make it. So they decided that I’m a witch, the kind that deserves to burn.”

Findt briefly remembered that he had been taught to not get involved. Hell, he was already involved, leaving her on her own now was just wrong, they would find her, and she was slow on foot and with her injury. On horseback, the two had an advantage, even if they didn’t go fast. 

“We should stay away from major roads,” Findt said. “You already made acquaintance with the downside of that kind of travel.”

“I got a witcher with me. I think I am safe,” she said and leaned back a bit, her head came closer to the witcher. 

Findt sensed something. She had a magical aura. “Who are you?”

“My name is Brigid Kobelawa,” the woman replied.

“Do you have any magical talent?”

The woman hesitated with an answer. “I was never taught in magic.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have any talent. Do you know anyone in Redania?”

“A druid in Yspaden, he was friends with the druid who taught me herbalism. He will help me.”

“I will take you there. We will ride for a bit until we are over the river, then I’ll give the horse a break and buy us some food.” Findt did remember that normal humans needed a lot more than him. “I’m heading south anyway.”

“Thank you…”

For a while none of the two said anything. They soon left the woods and crossed over the fields and meadows of Crinfrid. 

“I have a questions, I know you don’t have to answer it. I’m just curious,” Brigid said. 

“Ask.”

“I never saw a witcher do magic like that before, I mean I learned that they can do magic. But the spell you used to fix my leg looked like something a magician would do.” the woman said.

“I hail from the School of the Griffin. Magic is an important part of a Griffin’s training, I’d even say we specialise in it. I have not met a witcher from another school so far and I’m not sure how much magic they utilise.” Findt paused. “I would have offered you a potion to heal faster, but I think the toxicity could kill you.” 

“I know. I heard about that and to be honest, I admire your tolerance.”

Findt chuckled at that. 

“What?” Brigit asked Findt could hear her smiling though that word.

“Nothing,” Findt said nothing, just rode. “Is your leg still hurting?”

“Yeah. But I think that is completely normal for the kind of injury I sustained.”

“It is,” Findt answered drily. 

Behind the filed they rode past, they could see a scarecrow and Findt felt Brigid shutter at its image. While to him it was clearly just a scarecrow, to her a looked like a person watching them, even glaring at them. “Is your coat warm enough?” he asked, he had to make sure. 

“Not really,” Brigit answered, she sounded surprised that he cared. “I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Findt of Zontín,” he said and put the reins into her hands before he turned his upper body a bit to get his coat. It was rolled up at the side of his saddle pouch. He shook it so it unfolded before he wrapped it around her shoulders and closed the clasp in front, before taking the reigns again. 

“Thank you, Findt,” she said softly and leaned a bit back, resting her head against his armoured chest. 

The night was dark, the moon and stars stayed hidden behind thick clouds. In the distance, they could hear wolves howl their songs and the horse stepping in the tall grass, apart from them it was quiet. They rode the entire night and Brigid fell asleep halfway through it, exhausted and able to stay awake any longer. Findt’s current job was to protect her, he would not let her down. He would take her safely to Yspaden. 

When the sun started rising over the Krestrel Mountains they had almost made it to the City of Crinfrid. They were still in the Hengfors League but already miles away from where Findt had found her. 

When Brigid felt how the horse slowed down and slowly woke up. Findt was still sitting behind her. His coat was keeping her warm and she felt almost cosy with the warm horse beneath her. 

The world around the two was bathed into orange light of the rising sun, the towers of Crinfrid came slowly closer. 

“Are we really gonna stop there?” Brigid asked, her voice raspy after her sleep. “There are so many thugs there.”

“We’re just getting provisions and we will leave. Not staying longer than necessarily Just stay close to me. Best stay on the horse, try to look confident and threatening.” Findt kept slowing down the horse until it was just casually walking. 

“I’ll try that.” She yawned and looked around. 

“Don’t worry, just relax,” Findt said softly to her as they approached the gates. 

The guards eyed Findt and the woman but didn’t stop the two from entering. The streets were slowly coming to life. Findt manoeuvred his horse through the streets, slowly and watching out for pedestrians. Some groups of people stopped to look at them and murmured something before continuing their daily routine. A man who sat in the shadows quickly looked away. The man’s hair was talcy, sweaty, even though he sat meters away Findt could hear his stomach gurgle. The stench of desperation was leaking off of him.

Findt’s golden eyes were in constant movement, he knew this town was not the brightest of all places, he had to stay vigilant. Findt’s last job had been paid in Lintar, right what he needed to buy things in this town. 

When the two reached the market place, he jumped off his horse. He walked over to where a few farmers were setting up their stalls.  
Brigid moved back until her arse was in the saddle, holding the worn reigns in her hands. 

Findt took about ten minutes until he returned, the cloth bag in his hand seemed full and he seemed content. He handed it up to Brigid and waited for her to move out of his spot, before climbing onto the horse. 

He watched how Brigid inspected what was inside the bag. A big bottle of ale, half a loaf of bread and a piece of brawn. Findt had also bought some carrots and potatoes and a piece of young cheese. 

“It’s mainly for you since I haven’t planned for a travel companion when planning my rations,” he said and gave his horse the signal to start moving. “Prices are not bad, but let’s get out of here. We will take a break once we have crossed the river.”

“Alright,” Brigit said and closed the bag again.

Once again, Findt felt eyes resting on him. While he moved down the main road people kept stopping to have a look at him, his horse and his companion. He ignored them, kept his eyes front. 

# II

There was a lime-tree by the river, its leaves were still in a yellowish-green, still young after the long winter. Findt let his horse drink from the river while he knelt down on a large rock to meditate for a bit while Brigid was eating. 

When she was done, she got up and inspected everything that grew along the river. She collected a few herbs to start making a paste with Findt’s alchemical kit. Her leg still hurt but she had to heal it properly and take good care of it. 

Just on time when she was done, Findt was done and stood up. He stretched his back and arms before walking over. He noticed how the bandage around Brigid’s leg looked different. 

“You changed your bandage?” he asked when he walked over to his horse. 

“Yes, I figured you need time to meditate and it is more time-efficient.”

“Agreed.” Findt walked over and lead his horse away from the river and back onto the road before mounting. 

Brigid put away the things she had used into the saddle pouch, exactly how she had found them. Then she joined Findt on the horse so the two could get moving again.

“If you need another break, you have to tell me,” Findt said as they rode down the road, heading south. 

*** 

The region of Geliobol was not particularly mountainous, the majority of its landscape was defined by forests and endless fields. Findt felt how Brigid’s mood was slightly improving now she was fed and at least somewhat safe. 

They took two more days to make it to Yspaden. Brigid gave Findt directions and they slowly made their way through packed, narrow cobblestone-streets. Half-timbered buildings were rising at least two storeys high on both sides of the street. 

“How can one ever get used to being stared at?” Brigid asked. 

“You do get used to it, if you don’t know it any other way,” Findt grumbled, “I get that I look threatening.” It was raining and he had pulled the hood of his coat over his head, to keep his long hair dry. The town was less smelly than Findt remembered it. 

“Over there,” Brigid called out and pointed over the street at a house. Stone steps were leading up to a small shop, flowers, herbs and vegetables had been put outside in their pots. Findt stopped his horse in front of the entrance and after Brigid had jumped off it he dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby post. He followed the herbalist inside, the door seemed to be open all the time. 

The shop smelled like herbs, different kinds all mixed together and it was cluttered with plants. A pair of swallows had built their nest in the corner of the room, their hatchlings were currently crying out for food. 

A man with long hair and a grey beard that reached his belly was sitting behind the counter, reading a book. When he saw Brigid he got up and quickly walked around to get to her.

Findt watched how Brigid pulled back her hood, which was dripping from the rain.

“It’s good to see you. I heard they tried to lynch you,” the druid said and hugged Brigid.

“He saved my arse from a pack of wolves and helped me get out of there,” Brigid pointed at Findt, who was nothing more than a dark figure standing in the background.

“And who are you?” the druid asked. 

Findt took a few steps towards him and pulled back his hood, which also revealed the handle of the sword on his back. His cat eyes were expanded to better see in the spare light, his black hair was damp and messy. 

“Thank you for helping her. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need any herbs? I will make you a good —” The druid fell silent, his blue eyes were fixed on the medallion bearing the head of the Griffin on Findt’s chest. “You are a Griffin?” the druid asked, quietly.

Findt simply nodded, he didn’t say anything. “Did something happen?”

“The birds told me that Kaer Seren was under attack.” 

The blood drained from the witcher’s face. “I will take all the white myrtle you have. Thank you for telling me,” Findt said finally. 

“Of course,” the druid stuttered and went around the counter. He could not help but also give Findt some money for helping Brigid. 

# III

Findt was sitting at a small campfire, just outside the city walls. The witcher was brewing a few potions over the fire and used the downtime to gaze up at the stars. His armour was resting on a thick trunk, along with Emer’s saddle and pouches. Findt’s steel sword was laying in the grass to his left. 

Emer was covered with a horse blanket and walking free, moving around as he grazed. 

Between the nearby trees, Findt could hear movement. His left hand indistinctly wandered to his sword and grabbed it. With one smooth movement, he got on his feet. He kept his sword pointed at the ground as he glared towards the spot where he had heard the noises. His pupils expanded, adapting to the darkness away from the light of the fire. 

There was a short figure, carefully looking at him from behind a massive tree. A woman.

“Who’s there? Show yourself,” Findt demanded. His right hand was raised and ready to cast Quen or Aard. Either to protect his arse or to push the lady away, make time to get ready for a battle.

The woman stepped into full view. Findt recognised her instantly. 

“Lady Kobelawa?” His shoulders relaxed and he lowered his right hand. 

She stepped towards him. “It’s quite hard to find you, Findt,” she said with a smile. “I hope you were alright, you left in a hurry and I had trouble finding your trail.”

A smile crossed Findt’s lips. “Let’s sit down and talk.” He turned around and walked back to sit down cross-legged next to the fire.  
Brigid followed him and sat down.

“Zdeněk, the druid, helped me find a new home. I now live in a hut up in the mountains. I haven’t had much time to renovate it since I was looking for you.”

“What do you want?” Findt asked and leaned forward to stir his potion that was boiling over the fire. 

“I would like to propose something.” Brigid looked at the potion and the alchemical tools laying around. “I sort of could use your help.”

Findt looked at her, curious about what she was about to say next. 

“I would like to trade with you. If you need herbs I will give them to you for free. In return I would take all the monster parts that can be used for potions, I know you like to use up all parts. Apart from that, what you did for me really means a lot. So if you ever need help, if there is ever something I can do for you, don’t hesitate to come to me with it.”

Findt raised both eyebrows, he had not expected that. “You want my monsters trash?”

“Yes…” 

Findt appeared to be thinking. “Okay. Deal.” 

Brigid smiled and pulled in her legs so she could sit closer to the fire, while she watched him start working on another potion. “I can show you where my hut is if you have time.”  
“I just finished a contract. I’m free. We can head there right now, or we can wait until morning. Your choice.” Findt didn’t look up from his work as he spoke.  
“I would like to wait until morning. I don’t have a horse.” Brigid unfolded the pack she had on her bag to set up a small camp to sleep the night at the campfire.  
Findt didn’t mind. Once his potions were done he would meditate until morning.


	7. Blood and Snow (2/2)

# III

At dawn, Goldy finally slowed down, as she approached a hut in the woods. An old woman, wrapped in furs and with a headscarf against the cold, opened the door. She must have heard the noise of the approaching horse. 

Brigid had aged well, she was now over ninety, she tried to stay as fit as possible, but she knew every winter could be her last. When she saw how Findt was hanging on the belt, barely still in his saddle, she did not hesitate and went out into the snow. Her wrinkled face grew worried and she stepped closer to Goldy, who moved her head in acknowledgement and then stood still so the woman could check on Findt. 

Findt’s skin was cold and covered in crystals, he was almost frozen solid, he took a breath once a minute and his heartbeat was slow, too slow, even for a witcher. 

“What have you done, Findt?” she whispered. She moved her hands up and untied the belt that held Findt in the saddle. She brought Goldy to her goats, took of her saddle and dried the mare with some straw. She made a sling out of her belt to drag Findt with her into her hut. She sat him down on the floor to start tending to his injuries. 

She hummed a long-forgotten song, while she prepared the herbs to put on his larger wound in his side.  
Findt was slowly warming up, but it would take a long time until he would wake up. His incredibly resilient body was doing hard work to keep him alive and to heal him. 

Brigid started to prepare a few potions, which would help him recover faster. 

When she was done, she went back to her morning routine. First feeding the goats and Goldy too. Then she went back to the weaving work she did over the winter. Around midday, she started to prepare a warm meal. Once during that day, she thought Findt had died. His chest was motionless, his face pale and there was no heartbeat for her to feel. But after a few minutes, Findt finally inhaled again, to her relief. 

***

It happened a few more times. But less and less the more time passed. It was night again when Findt finally opened his eyes and let out a weary sign. When he realised he was still alive, he shot up in his makeshift bed, his right hand ready to cast a sign, he looked broken, confused and scared. 

“Hey, it's alright. You are safe,” Brigid said and stepped over. “I'm doing my best but you are still weak. You need to rest.” 

She turned around to hand him the potion she had prepared. 

It felt so warm when it touched Findt's lips. When he swallowed the liquid his body filled with warmth, his face regained some colour. He drank the rest and could feel how the strength returned to his bones. Unlike other potions it didn't taste bad and it also seemed to take away the pain. 

“How did I get here?” he asked when he had finished his drink. 

“You have a really good horse. I sense a connection between you and her.” Brigid took the mug and placed it on the table behind her. “I would like to check your wounds now.” 

Findt sighed and nodded. He watched how she got clean bandages, the mashed herbs she had prepared. 

She pulled back the blanket to reveal Findt's naked torso. He had a number of scars, every single of of them a story. 

Findt flinched when her warm hands touch his tender skin to start undoing the bandages. Brigid worked with care and made sure to not hurt or scare him. Findt reached for his face, where the gash was covered by the crust of dried mashed herbs. 

“I'm afraid that one could leave a scar,” said Birgit. “You are a witcher, nobody will mind and it gives you character.” 

Findt closed his eyes, it took a while for him to find the words. “They already don't like me. It doesn't matter.” He paused for a while, watched her work. “Thank you for taking me in, fixing me up and saving my life.” 

Birgit smiled and her dark eyes looked at him. “I told you, you are always welcome.”  
Findt nodded, didn’t say anything. 

“Tell me, who hurt you like that? Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone, I’m just curious what you did to make someone that angry.”

“I killed my first iceborn. He managed to destroy my meteorite sword. The sovereign who hired me promised me two-thousand ducat for taking care of the monster. Well, instead he sent his best men to kill me, and I barely escaped. What scares me that he almost succeeded.” Findt paused to swallow. “To be fair, the iceborn was tough to fight and had injured me pretty badly, I lost some blood.” The witcher pointed at the wound on his left leg, during the meditation session it had partially healed. 

“I knew this one was older than the others,” Brigid said with a smile. She had finished tending to his wounds. “Are you hungry? I made soup earlier. Soup is good for the soul.”

Findt slowly sat a bit up, adjusting the bag of straw which was serving as a pillow. “I would love some soup. Tell me do you know any good weapon smiths nearby?” 

“I think the best option is Novigrad. I know it’s a few days travel… You can do it once you are fully healed.” Brigid had stepped over to her fireplace to heat up some soup for Findt. 

“I mean, I stole a sword during my escape.” Findt looked at the sword that leaned on the wall next to him. “It’s a bit short but I can work with it for now.”  
Brigid laughed. “I had not doubted that. You know what you are doing… Well, usually.”

That last comment made Findt smile a bit. “I really missed you, Lady Kobelawa.”

Brigid handed the bowl of soup to him and then sat down on her stool, to be close enough to talk. She started to give him a summary of the last months. Not much had happened on her end. 

While he listened, Findt slowly ate his soup which was of phenomenal taste. It was orange and creamy. Mainly it had been made from pumpkin, carrots, onions and some ginger. 

When the elderly woman was done with her report, Findt had finished his soup. Now he had to tell her about the major events since they had last met. There were only a few places where Findt felt absolutely safe, here was one of them. She was one of the people he really trusted.  
Brigid was his age and he knew — the winters she had left were limited. He could not imagine a world without her.  
“What’s on your mind?” Brigid asked when she saw how sad the black-haired witcher looked while slurping his soup. When he didn’t answer she asked. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s not that. I’m okay… I really am.” He tried to smile for her. 

“You are a terrible liar, Findt of Zontín. Please tell me what is going on.”

Findt let out a long sigh. He felt like he was about to cry. “I just thought about what I would do if I came out here one day and you were gone.”

The wrinkles on Brigid’s forehead grew deeper as she listened to the witcher’s words. “Maybe I’ll become a spectre.” 

Findt stared at her. Was this a joke to her? “Better not or I would have to take care of you then.”

“I sure hope so. Better you than any other witcher,” she said with a soft smile. “I love you, Findt. I love you like a brother and Gods, I will miss you too. But on the other side I don’t want to have your body and everything that comes with it. I saw how you got spat at. And let’s be honest here, I’ve walked this Continent for long enough, even for a human I’m old. So much happened. Kingdoms rose and fell. Many people I knew died before me. If I had the chance to get older I would have more of this. I don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry.” Findt escaped her glance, he had stopped eating and stared down into his bowl. “I shouldn’t have started this conversation in the first place.”  
He sighed and scraped the rest out of his bowl before putting it aside. He felt how tiredness overtook his limbs and he leaned back on his bed. A few minutes later he fell asleep once again.


	8. Lord Pennewitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findt gets hired by Earl Pennewitz to take care of a specter, though there is more behind it, as Findt later learns.

# I

The City of Otanău was unusually quiet when Findt slowly walked up the hill to the castle. As he came closer the guards only eyed him, they didn’t stop him from entering. He wanted to talk to the Earl who was looking for a witcher. Findt could use a good job. 

He was easy to recognise as a witcher, just his eyes told everyone that he was not human. Some even seemed to flinch at his sight, not the guards of course.

“Witcher,” the Earl hummed as Findt stepped into his main hall. 

“Lord Pennewitz,” Findt responded and lowered his head in respect, his Griffin training was showing through. “I heard you are looking for a witcher.”  
“That’s right. But first what’s your name, witcher.”

“Findt of Zontín, Lord Pennewitz,” Findt answered. 

“There is a spectre haunting this town for a week now, people are scared. A bad omen they say. I know you are the best way to take care of her.”

“Tell me everything you know. Who has seen her? Who can I talk to?” Findt adjusted his posture and looked up at the Earl. Who was standing on the top of the small pedestal 

“Talk to the merchants on the market, most of them are regulars and saw her last week.”

Findt nodded. 

Well, this was routine. One restless soul was usually no big deal, or that’s what the black-haired witcher thought when he left the castle a bit later to go talk to the people in the market. 

The market was a little less busy than what Findt had expected. He looked around, there were several old farmers selling their goods. He decided to turn to someone young instead. The memory of the young was more reliable, and their senses were sharper.

“Good day,” Findt said to a man in his thirties who was mainly selling fish and seafood. 

The young man eyed the witcher, not sure how to react. 

“Have you been here one week ago?” Findt asked. “I’m investigating the spectre.” 

The man blinked against the sun, trying to get an image of the witcher. “It was horrible The lady came here, screeched and screeched and vandalised. People ran.”

“Can you describe her to me?”

“She was skinny, long dark hair, looked undead and pretty ugly.” The man pulled a face. “She was wearing a long, ripped dress.”

“Hmm.” Findt listened. It sounded like almost every spectre he had encountered so far. “Was there anything special about her?” Findt asked. 

“I don’t know.” The man scratched his head. “But the old shoemaker said something I couldn't hear what she said. But she seemed to recognise the monster.”

Recognise? Findt frowned almost unnoticeable. “Thank you for your help.” 

The witcher turned around and started to head down the aisle, left and right stalls, he was heading straight for the shoemaker. Who appeared to be working, completely focused on her work. She didn’t even look up when Findt stood directly in front of her. She seemed to be hard of hearing.  
Findt cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other, a bit to the left to block the sun, the light on her work. 

Finally, the woman looked up and her eyebrows shut up as she glanced up at him. “What’s up, boy?”

Find had to suppress a smile. Boy. “I heard you know something about the spectre which is in this town for a bit over a week now?”

The woman put down her work and remained silent to think. “Yes. I saw her. She’s bad luck.”

Findt listened and remained silent when the woman paused again. 

“I saw one like her back in the day when I lived in Lyria. The plague.”

“The plague?” Findt didn’t like that. He did not like where this is going. 

Around them, the market became louder. 

“Yes,” she paused and leaned forward and whispered. “She’s the plague maiden. Pennewitz hired you because he is scared. He knows the plague is already here when she appears.” 

To Findt the woman did not appear scared when she said those final words. He knew her words were true. He had lived long enough to have seen several plagues, often close up. “You don’t seem worried, though.”

“I’m not. I saw enough winters if it is my turn I’m okay with it.” 

Admirable, Findt thought. He had to talk to the Earl now. “Thank you for your help,” he said and gave the woman a nod.

She had a smile on her lips when she saw him leave.

***

“Already done?” Lord Pennewitz asked when he saw the witcher enter his hall again. 

“No, Lord Pennewitz. I’m here to tell you that I’m not the right person to hire.”

“How’s that?”

“The spectre is a plague maiden, Lord Pennewitz,” Findt spoke to him from man to man. 

The earl's eyes darkened. Findt could not help but strengthen his footing. “Then take care of her!” The Lord made dramatic pauses between each of the words, his bushy eyebrows were narrowed angrily, impatiently. “She brings the plague.”

“Good Lord, her appearnce means the plague is in town already. I can take care of her, but you need to hire someone else if you want to contain the damage the Black Death will bring over the region.” Findt spoke calmly, he knew what he was talking about. 

“Useless. I won’t pay you then,” the Earl said without hesitation. “I hired you to prevent a plague.”

“This is not my expertise.”

“Huh?” Lord Pennewitz got up trying to hide is disappoint when he made eye-contact with the guards behind Findt the witcher knew he had fucked up. “This could have been easy. I will find a use for you.”

Findt was grabbed, he didn’t try to fight back. Without his steel sword on him he was pretty much fucked, silver was damaged too quickly when it hit steel. It was too late now anyway, they had already grabbed him. He had hoped to get out of that by diplomacy. He was a fucking softy, now he was paying the price.

The guards cuffed him with the strongest cuffs they had and carried him down into the dungeon. It smelled like disease and death down there. But Findt was glad the had not tried to kill him on the spot. 

He was thrown into a cell and the guard took away his swords and pack. Two other guards took position on the door. The walls of the dungeon were too thick, he could hear nothing but the guards’ breathing.  
Findt cursed under his breath but he was not dead yet. He knelt down to meditate, it would help him focus and shorten the time as he waited. 

# II 

It was evening and while the moon shone down into the streets people were dying from the plague. No reason for the elite, the noble, class to get worried. It was the Countess's Birthday and the Earl of Pennewitz was throwing a huge banquet. Not even questioning the morality of it. He felt safe in his castle over the city. 

The three big tables in the hall were well filled with food from all over the continent, some of them exotic even. People were enjoying themselves in the light of the countless candles in the room, a small court orchestra was playing jigs from their spot in one of the room’s corners. 

The mood was bright. The servants kept the ale coming and the music kept playing. One of the lords at one of the tables was giving a story to his best, a humorous one. His story was frequently interrupted by the laughter by those around him. 

Earl Pennewitz was ripping huge bites from the piece of juicy meat in his hands, his lady sat next to him eating neatly with fork and knife. 

The banquet was going for almost an hour when the door swung open. A tall figure in a flowing white coat entered. Everyone fell silent, the band stopped playing. Her aura was threatening and the air around her was choking. Her presence reminded everyone present of how short life was. 

With big steps she walked towards the Earl, the guards reacted and so did the knights, ready to defend their lord. 

One of the women screamed and a chair hit the stone floor with a bang. More people jumped up. 

“Get the witcher!” the Earl called out. He reached behind his chair, where under the drape on the huge backrest and pulled out his sword. Whoever this was, she was a threat to him. 

The figure tilted her head and looked at the Earl. “I just want him,” she said with a voice that had the potential to freeze blood. 

But the knights didn’t pull back. They jumped at her. 

Meanwhile, Findt could sense a ripple in chaos, his medallion vibrated. He heard heavy footfalls approaching. A guard came down the stairs and went straight to Findt’s cell.

“I’m here to get the witcher,” he said to the other guards. 

Findt opened his eyes and stood up. He watched how the guards unlocked the door and uncuffed him. 

The guard that had come from upstairs tossed the witcher his two swords. “Follow me.”

Findt grumbled and followed the guard, the other two followed. The Griffin’s medallion was still vibrating when they reached the hall. 

The guard pulled open the doors and Findt froze at what he saw. The knights at the banquet were protecting the Earl, the women were standing at the wall as furthest away from it as possible. At the centre of it all, there was a figure. 

Findt’s medallion was now jolting on its silver chain. The figure froze when sensing the witcher and turned around to look him in the eye. Findt felt like he knew her like he had seen her before. Her presence was not describable with words of the common language. An old friend. 

“Sir Findt,” she hissed. Noting the sword in his hand, it was a steel sword. “I’m here to collect the Earl.” She turned back towards the Earl. “You are ignoring the suffering of your subjects. You do not respect life in any way, shape or form. That’s why I personally came, to make sure your soul gets where it belongs.”

“Kill her!” the Earl shouted, shaking, probably shitting his pants. 

The knights and guards yelled as they stormed towards the figure in white. She raised her hand and from white smoke, a bow appeared in her hand. She aimed and shot an arrow at the bravest of all knights. A huge bubo appeared where the arrow hit and he exclaimed in pain.  
The plague had reached the banquet. 

Findt had not raised his sword, he would not approach her. 

“Kill her or I will kill you!” the Earl screamed. 

“You are as good as dead,” Findt said and stepped forward until he stood next to the figure, within the cloud of mist around her. He knew who she was, knew she was here for a reason, one he could not interfere with. 

The white figure kept firing arrows, but one of the guards came close enough to stand within her aura and fell sick within seconds.  
The ladies in the room and the band were running out of the hall, to hide someplace safe. 

The Earl was losing it, he saw his men die quickly. Death came closer towards him and so came Findt, who used Aard to push their way through the crowd of knights. None of them would give in without a fight.

The white one took care of them, one by one with bow and arrow until all of them were down, crying and dying. 

This would hurt Findt’s image but in his opinion, this was the only way, the right thing to do. 

Pennewitz was pointing his sword at the witcher and the white figure. He grabbed his sword with both hands as he shook heavily. “Why are you not sick?” he asked the witcher. “I hope she gets you next.”

Those were his last words? Pathetic. 

Findt backed away, to bring a few steps between the two and himself. This was her job, not his. He sheathed his sword and crossed his arms in front of his chest while he watched. 

The white one leashed out and shattered the Pennewitz’ sword before touching his heart. The Earl cramped upon touch, leaning back he stayed stiff for a few seconds before falling to the ground, lifeless and saggy. 

“See you around, Findt of Zontín,” the white one said. 

“Dame Śmierć,” he said with a nod. “Not too soon, I hope.”

What looked like a smile crossed the white one’s face before she disappeared, leaving only white sparks behind which slowly fell to the tiled ground.  
Some of the fallen knights and guards were still moaning in pain as they died, apart from that is was silent in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this short story two weeks ago. I was inspired by events in our time, the disease was always a problem of the poor. I did in-depth research about how the plague worked and the mythology connected to it. It also took me several hours of reading to figure out what my death should look like and what kind of death she should be.  
> In the end, I decided on the looks from polish mythology (where death is feminine and where death wears white). Dame Śmierć is usually chill, she helps suffering people pass, reaches them her hand, but that day she had to do something she rarely does. I might have her show up later again, all the work ;)


	9. Kaer Seren

From afar Findt could see smoke rising into the blue sky already. The very idyllic keep at the bottom of the mountain chains had lost it’s charme. The lake was tinted black and the smell of magic was in the air. This was it. 

To Findt who had ridden as fast as Emer had allowed the scene seemed hazy, almost dream-like. Parts of the keep’s stone walls were collapsed under the attack that must have lasted for several days. Fires were still burning in the buildings of Kaer Seren, or rather what was left of them. Findt’s home was gone.  
Findt felt his heard skip a beat when he stepped inside though one of the holes in the wall. From where he was standing he counted at least six dead Griffins. The wind blew ember and ash off the roofs and let it fall down to the ground. The grass in the court-yard was burned or drained of energy, other spots were soaked with blood. It was without doubt that the attacker had taken their dead with them. 

Chaos was in the air, Findt drew his steel sword as he took small steps towards the centrepiece of the keep — the library. 

Findt felt like his throat was closing, he couldn’t breathe. This was a bad emotion, He tried to control it. But when he reached the library it overtook him. He was angry and disappointed, mad at himself for not being around. 

The library was empty. Nothing was left in the shelves. Findt fell to his knees, the attacker had stolen the very identity of the School, their knowledge and stopped the Griffins from training more witchers. 

He closed his eyes, he had to turn to the one stable thing. Meditation. It could ground him. He dropped his sword on the wooden floor and closed his eyes. 

Findt sat there for a while, motionless until, finally, he got up and took his sword again. He walked though the aisles of empty oak shelves. The library was a ghost-town, not a single sheet of paper was left. His steps echoed off the walls and he could hear the fire crackle in the buildings outside. The wind howling around the buildings and though the trees surrounding the keep. 

Findt stepped back down into the court, still holding his sword in his hand. On his chest, Findt felt his medallion vibrated all of a sudden. The grip around his sword tightened as he scanned his surroundings with his eyes. He started walking into one direction to see if the vibration would get stronger. He had to find the source. 

Findt’s right hand quickly moved to form the Sign of Quen, creating a glowing protective layer around him. There could be a trap. He noticed how he clenched his jaw when he approached one of the buildings. The roof had collapsed but something inside was emitting a magic signature. 

Findt sped up his steps as he started to sense something else. He used Aard in several short pulses to push through the door and the debris behind it.  
His medallion was almost jumping on its silver chain when he stepped inside the ruined shed. There was nothing to be seen with his eyes, intentionally. Someone had cloaked themselves.

Findt grabbed the nothing on the ground to drag them outside, where the air was better and where they were less in danger of being hit by falling debris.  
Findt used a spell to reverse the cloak, ready to strike with his sword.

The person beneath the cloaking spell was a blonde witcher, burned, cut and badly injured. His name was Jorik and he had finished his trial two years before Findt. Findt put down his sword and searched for a pulse. 

Jorik was still alive. Findt exhaled in relief. He whispered a spell in elder, his hands started to glow. He had to use his healing talents, give some of his energy, at least wake him up. 

It took ages until Jorik opened his eyes. 

“Findt, run away.” Jorik paused to swallow, he clearly had trouble talking. “They will come back.”

Findt shushed him, he was not leaving him behind; instead, he kept holding him in his arms while he got out a small bottle with a potion. The tangerine liquid inside was thick, but not completely like jelly — one of the potions Findt had brewed for the battle.

Without stabilising him, Jorik would die, bleed out before his body could heal. “I’ll get you out of here,” Findt said as he pulled off the cork and gave Jorik the potion to drink. 

Jorik recognised the taste and didn’t hesitate to swallow it. Findt could already feel how Jorik’s aura got stronger. 

The black-haired witcher gave his blond brother some more of his own energy, to the point where Findt could already feel his own life being drained. He could make a difference, this was his chance. Findt did not care and eventually passed out, he dropped next to his brother. 

***

When Findt woke up it was dark. Lucky boy, he thought. They had not been attacked. Some of the buildings were still glowing, small fires were burning inside of them. Findt turned around, remembering what had happened earlier that day. 

“Jorik?” he asked and touched the blond witcher’s forehead. 

The other was alive but in a deep sleep. 

Findt sighed and sheathed his sword before picking up his comrade and carrying them out of the keep and where he had left Emer. 

The black horse raised his head to look at his master when he saw Findt approached. 

“We are fucked,” Findt said to Emer. 

The horse snorted in response and kept looking at the two-legged.

Findt put down Jorik, making sure his head wouldn’t hit the ground in an abrupt manner. The movement woke him up. 

Jorik’s pulse was a lot stronger, he was still recovering but at least he was not dying anymore. Findt set him down between the trees and started to tend to Jorik’s wounds. They were not out in the open anymore. 

“Well, how do you find me?” Jorik asked in return. 

“The medallion.” Findt set his jaw and looked down at the blond witcher.

“Sorceresses don’t have one and the aura is not visible to most of them. I was hurt badly, I couldn’t fight. I hoped I could recover, not die.” He looked at Findt. “I sure would have died, if you wouldn’t have returned and given me a Swallow and your energy. I know I have been mean in the past and you could have just let me.”

“I don’t care about what you did in the past. You are not threatening me and you need help.”

“Soft boy,” Jorik smirked but then pulled a grimace in pain. 

“Shut up.” Findt turned around to his horse, who had lied down. Findt hated when people called him that. “Maybe it is time that you tell me what the hell actually happened.”

“The magicians,” Jorik started. “You know it was them. The attack went on for three days and then they finally broke through. I don’t know what happened after I was wounded. I only managed to cloaked before I passed out. And you came. What to you plan on doin’?”

“Bury our brothers properly. And collect all the equipment that is left, hide it somewhere safe. People will hear about what happened and come to get what is still left. But you have to rest for now.” 

Jorik nodded, he was okay with Findt’s plan.

Findt’s gaze shot up as he could sense movement coming closer. His cloaking skills were terrible, such spells were far from Findt’s comfort-zone He drew his steel sword and cast the big Quen Sign to shield himself and Jorik from any long-range attacks. 

The bushes kept moving and Findt stabilised his footing. A furry something stepped out, a kayote but Findt did not relax. A kayote would run away at any sign of humanoid activity. 

Findt raised his right hand and cast Aard to push the animal back, that’s when its expression changed. 

The kayote looked down and with the appalling sound of bones and flesh rearranging it shifted back into a person, growling angrily. 

The medallion started vibrating until it practically jolted, he didn’t hesitate and launched forward, pinning the man down, the sword at his throat. “Who are you?”

“I just wanted to check.”

“If there were survivors?”

“Yes.”

Findt scanned the attacker with his eyes, he didn’t wear the guild medallion of the brotherhood. “Hmm. You are lucky, I almost fried you.” Findt didn’t let go of the person. Nobody would care if he killed him, right now. One more body to bury, so what? 

The stranger didn’t say anything, just stared up at Findt with emerald eyes. 

“What do you want?” Findt asked, his steel blade touching the man’s skin. 

“Help you?” the man whispered quietly. “I get you are hurt but why are you so aggressive. I didn’t do anything.”

Findt put all his weight on his sword, which slashed right through the man’s neck. 

“I knew you weren’t a pussy,” Jorik said and Findt turned around to glare at his brother. 

Findt sighed and moved a bit back, away from Jorik. 

“What?” Jorik asked and glared at his black-haired brother. 

“I hope you are better soon. We need to get away from here.” Findt paused. “And then you have to be on your own.”

Jorik started to laugh. “So you can walk The Path? The School is gone, you can give a shit on all these rules now.”

“We still need to do our job. I don’t care, we have a responsibility. If we stop doing our job, if all of us stop doing our job the monsters will eventually take over.”

Jorik didn’t respond. He was pale and very silent all of a sudden. 

“Rest now, when you wake up we will start going. You can ride on Emer, I can walk.” Findt said and knelt down to help his brother get up and over to the horse.


	10. The Deep

“Sir I don’t know if you get it, but it is decemer. Why put out a flyer for a water monster now?” Connari asked the man in front of them.  
Findt was standing next to them, remaining silent.  
“I pay double,” the man grumbled. “After you are done, of course, just in case it kills you.” A smile crossed the man’s lips.  
Fucking bastard, Findt thought but his pokerface didn’t show any hint of what was on his mind. It was not uncommon for people to have these views, but it didn’t make it less shitty.  
“The monster will come for you, when it senses you, you won’t have any trouble finding it,” the man continued.  
“Hmm,” Connari said and looked at the witcher.  
“We’ll give it a try.” Findt turned around and slowly started to walk away. Connari in tow.  
“Got any strategy?”  
“Usually I lure them to the shore to kill them. But that will be hard because of the ice. Their kind has thick skin, I will try to take it down alone. Too dangerous.” Findt stepped onto the frozen lake and the two made their way over towards the centre. The ice was at least a hand-width thick, maybe double that at some parts.  
“You better stay back.” Findt could hear the ice burst beneath them in that exact same moment.  
Connari yelped as the ice broke beneath the two and the monster, bigger than anticipated and snapped for the two. Warm darkness surrounded them as they were swallowed whole by the monster.  
Findt couldn’t even say “Fuck!” on time. He tried to reach for Connari with one hand, knowing they could not breathe down here.  
With a swoosh they both landed in a puddle of whatever the monster had eaten last and bowel juices. Findt focused on keeping his heart rate slow and drew his sword. He could slay it from the inside, but Connari needed to get out of there, quickly.  
Connari was lying beneath his feet in the thick goo of previous meals, still breathing shallowly. He had to act quick to help them, his hand reached for the pouch at his belt at his belt he got out a vial of Wolf potion, bit of the cork and swallowed all of the content. The bitter taste of it let him pull a face only a second later he could feel the effect he raised his sword once again and picked up Connari, to hold them over their right shoulder. He felt that they had stopped breathing.  
The monster was moving and he almost fell several times, while he decided where to cut, then he punctured the monster’s stomach, blood spurted towards him. He kept slashing, holding Connari tight with his free hand.  
He broke through the monster’s final layer of skin a minute later, icy water rushed inside and made his body tingle. His sword in one hand, with the other one holding Connari he swam towards the light at the surface as fast as he could, while clearly feeling the weight of his armour and Connari.  
After what felt like an eternity he hit the ice, used the Sign of Aard and broke though it rather quickly. He took a deep breath above the surface before dragging his partner with him onto the ice. With a metal clang he dropped his sword and turned Connari on their back. Findt’s breath was steamy in the cold, dry air and his wet hair and clothes were dripping from water and goo.  
“Connari?” he called out. They didn’t react. They were still not breathing. “Fuck.”  
He bent over her, but hesitated when he realised something – in case something of the potion was left in his mouth he would poison Connari. Quickly he turned back to the hole he had left in the ice and fetched himself a handful water to rinse his mouth and spit it out. He turned back to them, feeling how his panic grew. He bent over them, holding their mouth shut while he covered their nose with his mouth. From the corner of his eye he watched how their chest rose under his breath.  
He lifted his head and listened how the air came back out. He whispered something Elder while he kept his right hand at their chin his other wandered towards their chest. His left hand started to glow in a soft golden hum. Hie healing powers were their best chance. Once again, leaned over to try to breathe life back into them.  
After a minute, Connari started to stir, looked up in terror and gasped for air and coughed. They sat up and leaned to the side to spit out water.  
They started shaking. Right, it was freezing and they were soaked. Findt kept his left hand hovering over their chest to gave them a bit more of his energy.  
He was done with fighting, the quest had failed, but that was okay. He was responsible for their safety after all, them first.  
“It’s okay. I’ll get you back to our room in the tavern.” He grabbed his sword and sheathed it on his back again, before picking them up to carry them swiftly over the ice and back to town.  
When he made it inside, he set them down on their cod and went over to quickly light the fireplace, warm the room. He removed the last parts of their armour until only the under-shirt and leather pants were left and covered them with his and their blankets. It felt so off to him, but he had to help them.  
He grunted as he sat down, and took his armour off too to change into dry clothes. He constantly checked if their chest was still rising and falling. – Connari was fast asleep now and they had regained some colour in their cheeks.

***

The wood in the fireplace had burned down by the time they finally woke up. Findt had sat there in his chair wondering how he could have let this happen. But things happened all the time on the job, right?  
“What the hell happened?” Connari asked and turned on their side, noticing that their clothes were still damp.  
“The monster ate us, but we are okay. I suggest you change into dry clothes while I get us some food.” He rose from his chair and grabbed some coins. He left without waiting for an answer.  
Connari sighed and sat up to reach for the clothes Findt had put on the edge of their cot. Their body was aching and they wondered how they were still intact.  
It didn’t take long until Findt was back with two full tin-plates and two jugs of ale, he was barely able to balance them on his arms. He was in his black undershirt, his medallion a shiny silver spot on his chest.  
“Thank the Gods,” Connari whispered as they smelled the food.  
They watched how the witcher used his foot to close the door and put down the food on the small table under the window.  
The room was warm now the dry clothes helped Connari feel warm once again. They sat down cross-legged on the stool and started digging into their food.  
Findt watched with a tiny smile on his lips while he ate slowly. He was more keen on the ale.  
“Can’t wait until the winter is over,” Connari said. “Food will be better.”  
“Hm,” Findt mumbled in response before taking a huge sip from his jug and leaned back in his chair, which screeched under his weight. He needed a nap, he had used up most of his energy, a simple meditation was not enough to restore that. “Are you feeling alright?”  
“A bit weak and sore but I’m okay. Thank you for your help.”  
“You are welcome.” He rolled his shoulders and glared out of the window before starting to eat again.


	11. Brothers In Arms

# I 

A witcher must kill a beast when hired, and he mustn’t ask questions. But Findt had started to ask questions. He did because he could trust no one. He suspected the clan of mages around every corner. They were still looking for him. They wouldn’t rest until they were dead or until him and the other Griffins were exterminated. 

Findt was still walking The Path. He tried to not look back, to do his job. As always when he came into a new village, he stopped at the board to look at flyers. It was his main way to get tasks. 

The village was looking for someone to investigate strange activity in the woods, south of the village. They suspected a monster behind it. Traders had been found dead on the road that went through those woods, people had gone missing and others had reported eerie noises. 

Findt took note of that and decided to look into it. He talked to a few people he saw in the village and by the afternoon he was on his way there. 

The last attack had only been a few days ago, so he was able to look at what had happened. To him, it looked like a werewolf. He could try to find its nightly hideout our he could try to find the person who was the werewolf first. Things had reported missing from the trader’s cargo — the inventory list and things on the chart had not been identical... 

The witcher found two trails. One was leading away from the scene and marks of a struggle, the other was leading towards it. 

Findt decided to follow those leading to the scene, he wanted to learn more about the attacker first, to be better prepared for a potential fight with them.  
The lead went through the woods, off-road and uphill. They had not bothered to use a path and they had been running towards the main road with quite a speed. 

After a while, Findt ended up at a fortified mansion, on a clearing up on the hill. It was in an older part of the woods.

He could hear people argue inside so he decided to have a good look around the mansion and the surrounding smaller building. It appeared to be a bandit outpost, there was at least a dozen inside. The appeared to be quite wealthy too, for a bunch of bandits. 

Not suspicious at all, Findt thought. Eventually, the black-haired witcher fucked up. A person behind a window had noticed him and told their friends about someone sneaking around on their grounds. 

They attacked more organised than he had expected. Two guys with crossbows shot him while another set of them attacked with swords, clubs and spears. He was able to doge and take down a few of them but he only managed to deflect the first crossbow bolt, the second hit him in the knee. He cursed and tried to take down as many as possible before he could not stand anymore and fell over. 

The bandits started punching him, kicking him in the gut. It hurt too much for him to keep cursing. 

# II 

When Findt woke up his head was buzzing, there was dried blood above his brow, the lesion had been shallow and had healed already. The wound in his knee had been bandaged half-ass, with some scraps of fabric. It still hurt. But his body was doing a great job at healing it. 

He was in a basement, chained with meteorite chains. His hands were cuffed, the shackles were well made. He could not move his hands in the slightest — no signs, no magic. The chains were anchored in the wall with a thick, well-made hook. If he wanted to get out of here, he would need the key.

Those lads knew who they were dealing with and how he was best contained. The area on the other end of the rooms was well lit, five men were sitting on boxes, using a third bigger one as a makeshift table while they played Gwent. 

Two torches were burning left and right of a doorway. They had also placed a tallow candle on their ‘table’. 

Findt was sitting in filth, and even though his body healed faster than ever man’s, his injures were aching. He knew he had sustained at least some degree of internal haemorrhage. They had taken away his armour and his weapons. Not even his hair-tie they had left him. 

The witcher sighed and shifted his position to kneel down. He hoped he could eavesdrop on the bandits who were with him. 

They were ranting about the magistracy. One of them was a hothead, he really wanted to see Findt dead but was held back by his mates. 

“We need to wait until the Captain is back.”

“That will take ages,” the hot head answered before getting up to grab a bottle of rum. He was getting drunk on duty today. 

The days passed, down there where there was no daylight Findt couldn’t tell how many. He was given very little food and spent most of his time listening to his guards or meditating in order to heal and preserve his strength. This was a marathon, he had to be ready for his chance to escape, he couldn’t do anything reckless now. 

On one occasion he tried to take down a bandit when he was given food, which ended him beaten once again. 

Thankfully their boss seemed to be taking his time, wherever he was. As long as he was gone Findt could live. 

Five guard shifts after his failed attempt to escape Findt could hear a storm approaching. At first, the thunder was distant but over the next hour, it came closer. He could wind howl over him. And when lightning hit close the thunder made everything shake. 

The storm went on. It just didn’t one to end. There was a bang. Something in close proximity had been hit. The wind kept howling but the guards became silent all of a sudden. Another man called something upstairs, something Findt couldn’t understand and the guards got up and left to check what was going on. 

The candle was about to go out but Findt could smell smoke, like wood and straw burning. It was just a whiff at first but it grew stronger. Something was burning upstairs. 

Findt watched how the light got weaker as the smoke got thicker and thicker. Once again he tried to get free if not him nobody would. But the cuffs and chain were just as sturdy as they had been before. 

He sighed deeply and sat down on the ground. He tried to see hope where this none. He leaned back his head against the stone of the basement wall, trying to slow his heartbeat and metabolism, maybe there was still a chance. 

He kept his eyes open in a haze of fear as he knelt there, waiting for something, anything. But it felt like an eternity. 

# III 

Upstairs he heard commotion and the echo of measured but swift steps coming closer. Those were in extreme contrast to the strangers slowly pulsating aura. Only an insane bandit would come down here, that didn’t make sense. Nothing he sensed did, the steps too fast in the dark, the aura to slow. 

Findt rose on his feet. Under the ceiling air was hot and the smoke was thick and dark at this point, he was tempted to sit down again, where he was still somewhat able to breathe. 

The person was a silhouette in the almost-dark. Two swords, long hair. Another witcher. He stepped closer and broke Findt’s cuffs. 

The witcher had white hair and he was a little taller than Findt. Findt was not sure how the other man had found him, but that didn’t matter now.  
“I’m here to get you out,” the other witcher said, he was a few meters from Findt and went though the guards’ things. 

“I can’t breathe,” Findt said quietly. 

“I’m looking for the key, keep your heart rate in check.”

“I thought the bandits left with them.”

“I killed all of them, searched their pockets. They didn’t have any keys that could fit cuffs.”

The other witcher disappeared from Findt’s field of view once again. Findt closed his eyes, he had to stay in control. His survival depended on it. Fuck, he was lucky, but why had the other witcher stopped to help? Could he trust him?

Well, right now Findt didn’t have much of choice. 

The wolf sighed and walked over to Findt, he quickly freed him. “Found your swords, let’s get out of here. Down here’s just smoke but upstairs is bad, we should hurry.”

Findt nodded and strapped his weapons to his back. He followed the wolf towards the exit. On their way up the stone stairs, Findt started to feel the first signs of oxygen deprivation. His thoughts hazy, his senses muted and his limbs weak. It became harder and harder to focus.

The ground floor was on fire already, the Wolf used Aard to take out the flames in their way. Findt was right behind him and once they were outside, he felt like he was about to collapse. 

The two stopped with some distance to the main building, which was now burning like a torch in front of the dark clouds.  
The storm was moving away, but far from over. 

“That was close,” the wolf said. Findt didn’t respond. 

If he knew he would have known that a quiet, not cursing Findt meant that the Griffin was not doing well. Findt was trying to remain standing.  
“Ah … Fuck.” the wolf cursed as the two could hear horses approaching. 

A group of bandits, at least ten were coming up towards them. The two witchers had the high ground but number-wise they were in disadvantage.  
Findt was not in top shape, but he cast Quen and drew his steel sword, an action completely subtropical. A potion to strengthen him wouldn’t hurt but all his other stuff was still inside the burning building. 

“Be defensive, make sure they don’t hit you. We got this, so take it slow,” the Wolf said. 

Findt hummed in agreement, even though he couldn’t hold back once it came to a fight, he had to give his best.

Part of the sky had cleared as the storm was moving away and the sun was setting behind and along with the fire it painted everything in warm colours. The forest around them was dark and with the mob of angry bandits coming toward them it didn’t look much welcoming.

“Kill them both. They burned our place down!” The bandit on the horse called up, judging by his clothes he was their captain. 

His men started to charge uphill. Just like Findt had observed earlier, they knew how to fight. They approached them in a semi-circle, to surround them.  
Findt knew that once he was running on adrenaline, his body would ache a lot less. He didn’t feel much, emotion wise when he blocked the first blow.  
He used the strongest form of Aard on the ground and blew every one of their feet. The Wolf had braced for it but still stumbled a bit, and he had to refresh his Quen. 

“Not bad,” he hummed and went to take down those bandits who were either stunned or had let down their Aard. 

Findt almost got struck by an axe of one furious man, barely managed to dodge the blow. The sharp edge grazed him and left a shallow cut, without his armour he was a lot more vulnerable. It didn’t hurt, he didn’t even notice it. 

He did notice, however, that he was a lot slower. His blood oxygen was probably back to normal but his body had to heal the damage. 

The other witcher was skilled with his sword — just like Findt had expected it—, it looked like a dance. Their styles were similar but not the same. And Findt was slow, without the Wolf he would have lost this fight already. 

Three enemies went at Findt at once, he fought back and managed to take out one of them. One second of letting his guard down and he was kicked in the gut by one other. 

One mistake after the other and Findt fell, he clung to his sword he couldn’t let go now. He tried to get back on his feet quickly. But one of the bandits went for him, kicked him again and then swung his sword. Findt was lacking the strength and the right angle to block and would have been stabbed in the chest if it hadn’t been for the Wolf. 

He swept in and took them down, was hit by the blow instead and his Quen broke, pushing the attacker back. Another used the open spot in the cover and attacked. The wolf was struck in the abdomen, only partially stopped by his armour. 

Findt cursed as he saw that, he cast Aard to push the bandit away. His adrenaline was pushed once again. He couldn’t let the other witcher get injured now, not because of him. He tried to get up again, this time with more success. He fought more aggressively now and cut down the few remaining.

With one sweep he beheaded the last standing bandit, his sword painted a dark red semicircle on the short grass behind him. 

The captain had stood in the back, still on his horse. He had watched his men die. He had an angry look on his face. He sped up his horse and came towards the two witchers, riding over his own dead man.

Findt exhaled sharply and raised his sword, the Wolf was in bleeding but still standing. Once the bandit captain was only a few metres away, Findt swiftly extended his offhand while he formed a Sign with his fingers. The captain was only barely hanging in his saddle and his horse was panicking, it forced him to jump off. 

“I make him dazzled and you take him down,” Findt said to the other witcher who nodded. Findt swiftly formed Axii with his right hand, which threw the captain off before he could attack. 

The Wolf took him down, stabbed trough his guts and then pulled back his sword to sheathe it.

Findt did the same and looked down on himself. “Are you alright?” he asked and looked at the Wolf’s injury. 

“I think I’ll be alright.” He pulled off his glove to move the fabric. “Ugh... Damn.”

“I’m Findt of Zontín by the way.” Findt looked at the other, worried. The injury was still bleeding heavily. 

“I’m Geralt of Rivia… we should get out of here.”

Findt thought about thinking something. How could he word out what was on his mind? “Let me kick-start your healing.”

“I’ve met others with this talent before. It will make you weaker,” Geralt said. 

Findt could not deny that. “Yes, but your injury is serious and you got it because I made a mistake. I will only stop the bleed, no self-destructive behaviour, I promise you that.”

The Wolf nodded and sat down, he let Findt use his spell. 

“Now, you like to tell me why you helped me? You risked a lot for me today. How did you know they had me?” Findt asked when he was done and the two slowly walked down the hill, to find a spot where they could rest for a few hours. 

“Always help your brothers along the path,” said Geralt. “I think we both responded to the same task. When I followed the leads leading away from the robbed chart, trying to find the werewolf’s hideout I saw smoke rising and decided to go there. I could hear the bandits talk about how they left their prisoner inside. Then they debated if there was the nearest possibility a witcher could survive a fire like this.” Geralt gestured towards the burning building. “That’s when I started taking them out and went inside to find you.”

Findt stopped walking and looked at Geralt. “Thank you, for everything.” 

“No problem. We’re both alive, that’s the most important thing.”

“So how long since you have met another witcher?” 

“As you know there are not that many left as there once were. The last time I saw another Witcher was when I lost our keep at the end of winter. With me, we’re four when we spend our winters there. How about you?” 

“Met a Viper in early spring, was a rather unpleasant encounter. We didn’t kill each other. As you probably know the Griffin School was destroyed for the most part. I try to get by and through the winters in other ways. Haven’t found the perfect solution yet.” Findt rolled his shoulders back and sat down on a spot that looked promising. 

Geralt seemed to approved and knelt down too. 

“Do we take on the werewolf together in the morning?” Findt asked.

“Maybe we can talk to him first,” Geralt said and looked over at the Griffin, who put a strain of black curls behind his ears. Annoyed by the hair in his face. “How are you feeling.” 

“I’m not back to normal, but I think I’ll be alright.” Findt sat back and extended his leg, the wound on his knee was healing well, it would leave a scar, but hey. “Can’t believe I’m finally out of there.”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked over at him. 

Findt looked back, it was night now and his pupils were fully expanded. Geralt’s bio-electricity was weaker than it should be but he could heal. Findt could do some more magic before they went off to meet the werewolf later.


	12. The Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long break. I got caught up with editing this exact thing and I do realise that I can only blast out the good stuff. But I will now post regularly again and we might even get a few more stories than I initially planned :)

# I

  
It was late. Findt sat in a smoky tavern, both of his hands were resting around a jug filled with strong Cintran ale. Once again the witcher had sat down in an inn to warm up and rest for a night after a rather lengthy contract. He looked up and let his eyes wander, observing the room.   
There was a group of bandits who seemed to be celebrating something and an old man with a pipe, but also a larger squad of fishermen who were singing chanties while they got drunker with every moment.   
Findt felt a chill running down his spine as he caught the eyes of an old man with a long golden beard. Hastily the witcher lowered his eyes, stared into his half-empty jug. It was too late, Findt heard how the man’s chair creaked as he got up. Heavy steps approached, Findt still refused to look up.   
With a grunt the man with the golden, flowing beard sat down at Findt’s table, opposite of the witcher.   
Slowly, Findt looked up and watched how the man pulled out a book from under his coat and dropped it with a slam on the table of oak. Findt raised both his eyebrows but the man didn’t say anything.   
The man started to lean forward until his lips were right next to Findt’s ear. Findt didn’t move, he didn’t flinch.   
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but forces out of my control are at work.” Old man’s wrinkly hand shoved the book across the table. “I know this might be important to you.”  
What looked like the trace of a smirk crossed Findt’s lips. “Are you trying to recruit me into a cult, sir? You are aware that us witchers have to remain neutral at all times, right?”   
The old man pulled back and looked at the black-haired witcher — Findt squinted back.   
“No,” the man said then. “I heard what happened to your school. This book is from your library.” The man opened the book to show its first page to the black-haired witcher.  
Findt read the runes, clearly. This signature was hard to fake, impossible even. He looked at the man with eyes that were nothing more but slits. He scanned the room for anyone else with a similar signature.   
“How did you obtain it?” Findt asked then.   
“I found it.” The man had a strong magical aura. Findt was not sure if he was part of the brotherhood or not.   
“You found it?” Findt spoke calmly and sound almost dangerous. “Why should I be interested?”  
“I know there are a few spells you seek to improve. Everyone who practices magic knows you cannot be perfect, ever. You never stop learning.”  
“What do you want in return for the book?” Findt asked. He suspected a trap. This offer was too good to be true.   
“There is a were-boar in the village. I want you to kill him.”  
“I would prefer to cure him.”  
The man looked at the dark-haired witcher. “Just don’t let anyone know you are looking for him. Prince Gustav has hired him to terrorise us, make us obey.”  
“Hmm.” Findt looked around in the room as he thought.   
The door of the tavern opened and Connari entered. They had shouldered a bag with goods they got from the market. The saw Findt and headed straight over to him.   
Findt watched how the old man frowned as Connari sat down next to the witcher. The old man didn’t say anything for a long while. But then, finally he asked. “Is that your apprentice?”  
Connari nodded, instead of Findt. “He teaches me how to fight and how to kill monsters.”  
Around them the tavern went quieter. The crackling of the fireplace became the loudest sound and Findt could feel over a dozen eyes resting on the three.  
He set his jaw, he turned to Connari. “We should go to our room.” To the old man he added. “Thanks for your time, we will talk again later.” The witcher grabbed the pack with his two swords and got up.   
Connari frowned and followed him across the room to where a set of oak wood stairs were leading them to the rooms upstairs.   
Findt waited until they had stepped inside and then closed the door, rougher than usual.   
Was he angry? Hell, he was.   
“You need to shut your mouth when I’m talking to somebody, especially when you have no idea what the situation is about.”  
“You let me usually do the talking when we do contracts. I thought it was okay.” Connari sat down on the bed.   
“Yeah when we work as partners. This man wanted to trade a book from the Griffin Library for some work, a dangerous task that could get us into trouble. Now we got unwanted attention.”  
Connari didn’t seem to understand why he was mad. They started to take off their armour and turned in the bed, face the wall. They heard Findt snarl and how he knelt down on the wooden floor.

# II

Findt opened his eyes. The room had cooled down, it had to be past midnight. He looked around, Connari’s bed was empty.   
He mumbled to himself. They must have left while he had been deeply focused. But where did they go? Their armour was still there, and so was one of their swords. They had taken only steel with them.   
Findt sighed. He had to go find them. He put on his armour and strapped his swords to his back. He left his other stuff behind and stepped out into the hallway. There was a piece of paper on the ground. He picked it up.   
It was cheap paper and the text was written by a heavy hand in black ink — a man’s handwriting. “Snatched the kid when they went for a walk. Come to the bridge north of town if you want to have them back.”  
Findt cursed. It was his fault, he had been a bit harsh on them. Who had took them would realise they had messed with the wrong person.  
He quickly left the tavern. The streets were empty, only single rays of light came from a few windows. It was quiet, every now and then a dog barked in one of the yards.   
Findt was moving swiftly. He was worried and nervous. He tried to block out his feelings, he had to focus on the task at hand.   
As he approached the border of town, he got out his sword. He carried it in his left hand, in an underarm grip.   
The bridge was crossing a creek, which was flowing in a deep bed out where the woods were getting denser. Crickets were chirping the tall grass all around.   
Findt stepped onto the bridge, a few hundred meters up-stream he could see a group of men. The appeared to try to hide from his sight, he had seen them.   
He walked across the bridge and climbed down into the creek’s bed. He watched his steps as he stepped from stone to stone towards where the men were hiding, tried to make as little sounds as possible.   
Then he started to feel how his limbs got heavy, all his senses were muted all of a sudden. He looked around, he had been poisoned, where was it coming from? He looked down on himself, he was unhurt but it kept getting worse. It had to be in the air. — He was lower than them, the poison was havier than air. He had to climb faster but was running out of time, a normal man would be dead by now.   
Findt had almost made it to the top, when his arms and legs completely gave up and he fell all the way back down. He tumbled until he stopped moving, his legs underwater. 

***

Findt was woken by pain. It hurt more like any cut or stab wound he had ever received, even more than a tourniquet. Magic or alchemy was at play.   
A tall, dark man stood in front of him, a smile on his lips as he raised the bloody blade. Findt's blood repelled by the oily steel. The smell of the oil reminded Findt of something, Crinfrid Oil.   
“Where did you put the book?” the man asked.   
“What book?” Findt gasped, pain still shooting rhough his body. The man slashed him again. Pain shot through the witcher.  
“That isn’t what I want to hear. Tell me where you put the book.”  
“I — I don’t know what you are talking about…”   
Another man who had stood in the background came closer, he was tall and was wearing robes. “Let me do it,” he said to the mate with the knife.   
The man with the knife glared at his tall friend “It’s my job, Horst. What do you want to do? Magic tricks?”  
Findt watched them, he tried to regulate his breath. If one of them was a mage, he could not let him inside his head. The pain was slowly going away. He had been taught how to resist magic if needed.  
Horst came closer, the medallion started moving just as Findt felt a pressure against his temples. Yes, Horst was the mage and he was trying something.  
The witcher closed his eyes, he could not give him. What did they want? He kept fighting back, determined to make it out of here and to help Connari escape.  
Horst’s hand came closer, it almost touched Findt’s face. The witcher felt the tingling feel in his nose, just before it started to stream out of his nose, a thin liquid that dripped, he started to taste blood in his mouth.   
The world around him blurred as he passed out.

***

Some time had passed, it was dark outside now.   
“The kid is gone,” a man Findt didn’t meet yet said, “should we go after them?”  
“We don’t need them. We would have killed them anyways,” Horst said.   
Findt coughed, more blood was running down his throat, he was still bleeding. He spat it out, not caring anymore. He had to get out of there. But he was weak already, felt unusually tired. And he could not meditate in his position, it was way too uncomfortable being hung up on one’s arms  
“Huh? The piece of shit just woke up.” The man who had used the knife earlier came up to Findt and kicked him in the abdomen.  
Findt grunted as the man grabbed him and pulled his head back by his hair. He witcher heard Horst approach him once again, trying the trick again.   
“We can do this as many times as you would like, you will keep hurting yourself if you don’t stop fighting back,” the sorcerer said.   
“Never,” Findt whispered and glared up at him, bracing for another hit.   
Horst kicked him again but then looked up. Findt’s medallion jumped for a brief moment, too brief for anyone but Findt to notice — and Horst pulled away to walk outside.   
The man when the knife came closer, grinning awfully. Findt closed his eyes, the smell of the oil in his nose once again.   
Outside in the hallway he could hear steps with a familiar ring, it was not Horst. The person stopped infront of the room. Findt heard something being lit with a blow and how steel was drawn.   
The witcher opened his eyes and looked up. He looked right into Connari’s blue eyes, just as the henchman dropped to the floor between them.   
“Connari…” Findt noticed the cracked magical torch in their left hand.   
They were unusually pale, he could see the veins as red lines in their eyes and that their lips without colour. “Save your breath,” they said and stepped over the collapsed man on the floor, they dropped the torch to the ground and sheathed their sword to untie Findt. “We need to hurry they won’t be out for long.”  
Findt glared down at the torch and fell down as his restrains — the only thing holding him up — were removed by Connari. The witcher’s eyes were moving quickly, he was thinking as well as he could with a mind that was getting hazier and hazier with every moment.   
Connari knelt down and pulled a vial from her pocket, it was one of Findt’s. They helped him sit up after untying his feet before handing the vial to him.  
Findt eyed it, his mind was piecing it together as he drank the potion — They had used their weapon against them somehow, less concentrated. They were immune but how? “You drank the other vial?” Findt sounded worried above everything else.   
Connari looked up and stoke the hair out of their face. “Half of it, yes.”  
“Half of it,” Findt repeated, not believing what he had just heard. “It will fucking kill you!”  
The said nothing for a moment and neither did Findt. “I’m sorry. We fought. It is all because of me. I had to —” Connari paused and they leaned forward to hug Findt. “I had to get you out of here.”  
He groaned, the touch hurt him. But then he raised his arms to hugged them back. “You are poisoned, and I cannot let you pass out here.” His mind was already trying to plan for the worst-case scenario.   
“It was the only plan I could think of. At least that way I’m not asleep.”  
“Not yet.” Findt cursed as he got on his feet. He clenched his jaw as he looked around in the room, his stuff was here. He pulled over his dark-blue shirt and strapped his swords to his back, it hurt but it would pass. He back was one bloody mess of wounds. The two were not out of here yet, there was still too much to happen.   
Findt hesitated as he found himself standing over the body of the man who had tortured him for the past few days. He raised his blade and made it shoot down, piercing his flesh like it was nothing. “Have you seen the mage?”  
The human shook their head. “Not since I’m back.”   
Findt grumbled. “Do you wish to come with me? I will find him and I will kill him. When this is over you need to explain something to me… but it has time. If one of us doesn’t make it; don’t worry about it, it’s just the details.” His beaten lips formed something that nearly resembled something like a smile, a forced bitter one.   
Connari nodded, they didn’t comment. “We can go out through the back door, we should run into fewer people.”  
Findt saw their aura flicker, he knew they were getting weaker with every moment, he was not in top shape either, they had to hurry.   
They heard steps, people curse downstairs.   
“We’re on the first floor, with some magic we could jump out of a window,” Connari suggested.   
“We don’t have a choice,” Findt said and turned left into a room.   
“We need to run north, I got our stuff from our room and hid it in the woods so we don’t have to return to the inn.”  
Findt hummed in response and climbed over the windowsill before jumping down, quickly crossed his wrists and rolled off the impact. He got on his feet and turned around to cushion Connari’s fall. He could not mess this up. 

# III

With the Sign of Heliotrope he had caught his fall, and Connari’s and now the two were on their way through the overgrown garden, behind the tower.   
Findt exhaled sharply, he was holding his side. Blood was seeping through the dark fabric of his shirt on his side and back. He felt weak, but was relieved to see their horses between the trees and that Goldy had all his thing son her back.   
Puffer looked up when he saw Connari, who climbed on his back right away. Findt followed their example, rearranging his pack so he could mount his horse. They had to keep moving.   
The sound of Connari throwing up made him turn his head. They were not okay, and even though he felt awful all his worry was focused on them.   
He pulled himself up and let his butt sink into the saddle, he took off his swords and stored them away, where he could quickly access them but where they were not hurting him any further. He drowned a swallow, he would need more energy which came with fastened healing.  
“I was about to suggest that.” Connari sat down on their horse and pulled their cloak over their shoulders. “Let’s ride.”  
Findt made sure he was riding next to them. Even though their saddle was unlikely to allow them to fall out, he was worried about their well-being.   
They rode for a while at a brisk pace, Connari was still getting worse. Findt couldn’t yell at them now, he knew they had had a limited amount of options.   
He was stronger from the potion already, he could share it with them. “Give me your hand,” Findt said and reached over to the Cintran.   
Connari hesitated but then pulled off a glove with their teeth and took his hand. It was rough from work but warm, warmer than theirs. They watched how his lips moved as he whispered the spell in elder. They knew this move, had seen it before when Findt had helped the injured Wolf. He would drain himself in order to help them. “Findt… You need to defend our asses when we get attacked. I’m poisoned and you can only slow it down.”  
“I know,” the witcher said. He set his jaw and focused on the transmission once again. “It can kill you, I couldn’t live with that guilt.”  
“I should tell you that I have the book. I hid it just after receiving it and retrieved it when I managed to get out of Horst’s tower. I went for a walk and saw how they attacked the man, he gave it to me.”  
Findt didn’t slow down his horse, he did not interrupt their connection but he looked at them. “How did you escape?”   
“Igni. I lit their asses on fire to distract them. They didn’t expect such action.”  
Findt smiled a bit, it was the only sign they had mastered so far, it was a rather useful one. When their aura was a bit stronger Findt let go of their hand. “I’ll give you another burst later."  
“Thank you.” They pulled on their glove and took the reigns with their right hand once again. 

***

  
The two rode until it was night again, until they were in a very densely populated region, high up in the mountains. While Findt was healing, Connari was getting weaker. When the pair finally stopped and Findt set up a camp they were nothing more than a zombie, half awake and feeling awful.   
Findt helped them sit down gave them his cloak as additional cover. Connari was quieter than usual.   
“I’m sorry. I should not have yelled at you, back at the tavern,” Findt said and sat down next to them. “I’ll watch over you. It will be alright — Let’s rest.”   
Connari hummed in response and leaned against him. Findt rested their head on his knees and gave them some more energy. 


	13. War Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting for the following shorts they are in the status of the 2nd draft... and I'm currently trying to figure out a way to make them more consistent

# I

The battle by the river went on slowly. Even after weeks of fighting no ground had been gained on either side, it went back and forth. The Nilfgaardians were tired of losing men and they knew Ebbing would only be the start of their expansion north.  
Nifgaard sent a mage who unleashed a plague on the forces of Ebbing, a magical fog that forced everyone down. Most died. The Nifgaardians moved north, annexing land as they went and soon they would stand before the walls of Cintra.  
Why exactly the White Flame when for the North was not clear yet, but he pushed his forces with such contempt that nobody doubted his ability to make strategic decisions.  
Slowly the fog was blown away and thinned out by the wind, which grew stronger as night fell. A few lonely flags were moving and birds were singing in the woods uphill and the river was singing to their left. A single necropharge came from the woods and moved over the battle field, then it started to feast.   
Brom was not even twenty-four, he had been drafted to fight for the motherland and now understood what it truly meant, he was surprised he was still alive after all that. Everything hurt and he felt like he had been mangled.   
As soon as he felt at least somewhat capable of getting up, he rose. He checked if he had his sword and his bag as he looked around. If anyone was still alive he had the duty of helping them.   
The stench of death, shit, old blood and the poison was in the air — heavy, choking even. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it burn on his skin. He saw the ghoul, but the monster was far away and still distracted with its feast.   
Brom heard someone groan in pain and then a cough, not ten meters from him.   
He tried to stand up-right, leaned on his sword — its tip in the dirt — that way he slowly made his way towards his comrade.  
In addition to the injuries by the spell the man had what looked like a sprained ankle, Brom could not treat it here in the field, the soldier needed rest and was in no way fit for combat.  
“Do you think anyone else made it?” Brom asked his comrade as he helped the older soldier to get up.  
“I saw someone else move.” The other one pointed over the battlefield to where many soldiers were lying. “What’s your name kid?”  
“Brom.” Brom looked around until he had spotted the other man, who was still breathing and only moving slightly amongst the dead soldiers around him.   
“I’m Francis,” the older one said. He had a heavy accent, like his parents had emigrated from Toussaint, the unusual name supported that theory.   
Brom nodded silently and took measured and careful steps towards the other man. Francis followed, slower, his ankle bothered him. Francis stopped when they stood right in front of the third man in question. Wordlessly, Brom knelt down and turned around the soldier and checked him over. The soldier would heal alright if his open wounds got treated soon.  
“Run.” Francis called out, all of a sudden, in mild panic he pointed across the battlefield where the necropharge had smelled them and was now going beeline for the three.   
Brom tensed up and quickly tried to pick up the injured soldier. Half carrying him, the two stumbled towards the woods, hoping the monster would stop persuing them once the effort to actually got them was raised.  
Around them the trees crackled and moved, it was getting dark and cold. The trio went as far as they could.   
Francis broke down after running for a while, his legs couldn't carry him any longer and his lungs were burning.  
Brom stopped right away and looked around panic still on his face. It seemed they were alone now, no monster in sight.   
The other soldier looked up at them. “There is a mansion on top of that mountain, better than spending the night out here. We could rest there and wouldn’t be eaten by monsters.” He spoke slowly and quietly. His voice was coarse. It was the first time he had said anything.   
Brom nodded but Francis seemed not fond of the idea climbing up-hill.   
“Is it far?” he asked.  
“No… I think we can make it.” The quiet man said. 

# II

Findt groaned as he got up from the spot on the floor, he had meditated to kill some time. Now it was night. Before he would go the rest of the way uphill, he drank a potion and oiled his silver blade. He was here for the midnight demon.  
The woods around him were dark, the wind was singing in the trees and the building on top of the hill glared down at him with dark eyes.  
But the witcher was not scared this was just another day on the Path. He was not supposed to ask question, work for everyone who needed his help and was willing to pay.  
The war had been close but he had avoided any battles on his way here. Just underneath the hill, the last few soldiers fighting for a free Ebbing had fallen and the majority of the black ones had moved on.  
He could already sense the old, very undead lady moving though the cold rooms. He cast Quen and drew his sword as he stepped inside through the open gates. The spectre was upstairs, the mansion was rather big. He had to go there first.  
To his left he saw movement, heard someone human breathe, more than one person. “Who’s there?” Findt asked and sheathed his silver sword.  
“We’re sorry, didn’t want to intrude, sir.” It was the voice of an old man.  
Findt turned and took a few steps towards them. All their auras were weak, they were injured, one of them was in terrible condition. The all wore the same coats of arms.  
“You need to take him to a healer, someone who is experienced,” Findt said and pointed at the one who was of medium age.  
“We can’t they will kill us for deserting.”  
“You are soldiers?”  
The oldest looked at Findt, couldn’t see much but darkness. “We are. We didn’t run away, I swear. The battle was lost when we woke up. They used magic. We just want to spend the night, it’s cold outside.”  
“It’s not safe, the place is haunted. I’m a witcher, here to take care of it.” Findt looked around as he thought. “Maybe it would be better if you waited outside, just until I took care of the spectre.”  
The witcher watched how the men looked at each other, then they moved slowly past Findt. The soldiers didn’t appear to be dangerous or with any bad intentions. “I’ll try to fix your comrade then. I understand your situation but first I need to make sure this place is safe.”  
“Thank you,” the youngest said and then turned back to his comrades.  
Findt sighed and got his sword again, refreshed his Quen. With meassured, quiet steps he started to climb upstairs. The air was surprisingly moist and not as cold as Findt had expected.  
The spectre let out a characteristic screech when she noticed Findt, she came at him and then teleportet at him.  
Findt cast Yrden, and moved back. The spectre followed and slowed down as it got trapped inside the circle. She could not teleprot and he managed to hit her a few times before she had managed to escape once again.  
She teleported behind Findt and managed to land a blow, his Quen broke. He hit her once again, and took the rebound which sent him stubling back and stunned for a moment.  
Findt refreshed his Quen and trapped her in another Yrden, he alternated between swift and strong attacks.  
The spectre was only of average strengh and after another minute, the witcher took her out with one final hit. She bent back to scream one more time before disappearing, she left nothing more but a heap of ash and old fabric.  
Findt sighed and looked around before sheathing his sword and fixing his hair. He picked up what the spectre had dropped, it would ensure his payment. He went back down the stairs. He could hear the three soldiers talk outside.  
“You can go back inside but be gone tomorrow, I’m sure the Lord of the house will return soon, after he hears the spectre is gone,” Findt said.


	14. About Trust

# I

Findt was alone, it was very early in the morning. He had convinced Connari to stay in town, while he did this job.  
The woods around him were foggy and dark and even a few hours of searching he didn’t find any trace of a monster. Until he saw a human standing between trees.  
“You need to leave,” Findt said calmly as he approached the man. “It's dangerous in this clime.”  
The man turned around, that's when Findt saw what was off. The man was wearing his clothes backwards and the wrong boot on each foot.  
"Ohoho," Findt laughed and drew his silver blade. He had not dealt with a leshii of this age since Queen Calanthe had ascended to the throne of Cintra. At the same time he regretted he had no time to prepare for this fight.  
Leshii did not speak the language of men, but the forest around Findt started singing. Crows flew from the surrounding trees and swooped down on the witcher.  
Smoke and dust rose and the man grew until he was almost two meters tall, a monster with a deer skull for a head and long wooden limbs. His arms ended in sharp claws.  
The forest sang louder and a pack of wolves approached the two. They didn’t hesitate to attack Findt whose silver sword was not the perfect choice for them. Once they were all down, Findt focused on the leshii.  
He had to be extremely careful to dodge the roots and thorns the lord of the forest had growing from the ground. In melee the leshii was rather slow but his claws were sharp and he had a lot of strength. It was vital for Findt to dodge every one of the leshii’s attacks. He also cast Igni every now and then to set the spirit on fire, who didn’t burn for long.  
Findt thought he almost had him downed when the leshii shifted shapes again to escape Findt’s reach. Out of reflex Findt drew the Sign of Quen, just in time when another swarm of crows shot at him. With golden sparks the magical shield burst and the song of the forest grew into a howling.  
The leshii re-materialised a few paces from Findt and another set of roots like spears flew towards the witcher and he barely managed to dodge them. One of them penetrated his gambeson on his arm but he was too much in battle-mode to notice the injury. The witcher ran towards the leshii, dodged one of the blows and struck the monster in the stomach. The howling of the trees grew to a wail and the crows swooped down once more. Findt tried to cover his face to protect it from their feet and beaks while the leshii shrunk to a sad knot of roots. Distracted by the birds he didn’t sense how the roots struck again beneath him, the dying leshii’s final attack. One of them pierced Findt’s abdomen while a few smaller ones penetrated his legs. The song of the woods kept getting louder until it was silent again and the crews flew away. The witcher lay motionless. 

# II

Connari got up from their seat. They saw that Findt had moved his left hand just so slightly. It was scratched up and slightly bluish. His eyes were still closed.  
“Findt? Can you hear me?” they asked.  
The Witcher hummed in response.  
“You have to tell me which potion is the right one.”  
“Cognac coloured, round vial.” His voice was quiet and pained.  
Connari started digging though is alchemical bag. They were wondering how he could find anything in this mess.  
“I. I think. I think I got the right one.” With the clang of bottles they set down the pouch and stepped over to the bed.  
Findt’s eyes were still closed but he took the bottle and turned it in his hands. They were rough from work, veiny, and even though he had been cleaned up there was still dirt under his fingernails. He nodded very slightly, recognising the shape of the bottle. Since they had been found all around the continent, all of them had a unique shape.  
Connari helped him pull the cork, careful not to spill anything.  
Findt took it, still not looking and shaking and drowned it in on big gulp. He let the hand with the vial drop to his chest, exhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. Connari watched how some colour returned to his face. At the same time the bandages around his core seemed to get bloodier, like he was bleeding heavily again. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.  
Connari watched with a concerned frown on their face. For a moment they thought, they had given him the wrong kind of potion, he would have noticed if that was the case, right? They wouldn’t take an eye off him.  
He didn’t move and after a few minutes he was asleep again, but the spots of blood didn’t seem to grow.  
Connari got up and gently pulled the weighty blanket up until it was up to his shoulders. They stepped away from the bed and put Findt’s pouch back in its place with the swords and gear. Then, Connari sat down where they saw both Findt’s face and the door to the hallway. 

***

Findt’s eyelids were still heavy when he woke up again, he felt less hazy and barely remembered taking a swallow with Connari’s help. He felt the comfortable straw mattress beneath him. The ceiling above him was made of stone, warm light fell though a small window high up in the wall and painted dust golden in its rays. He heard someone else breathing in the room and birdsong outside. He had never seen this place before and could barely move his head to check where he was, his neck was stiff and sore form whiplash. He was relieved as he noticed he could still move both his hands and wiggle his toes under the blanket — even though the latter pained him. His armour had completely removed and he had been cleaned up and covered with a warm blanket. His medallion was still on him.  
Findt could turn is head just enough to see who was with him — Connari was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaned against the wall and looked at him. The two made eye contact for a second but the teen turned their head, not to look at him.  
“You know,” they paused and swallowed audibly, “when I found you in this pool of blood, I thought you were dead.” They realised he was now awake enough to understand them.  
There was no emotional reaction on Findt’s face, “Where the fuck am I?” he asked instead. His voice was nothing more than a whisper.  
“The Temple of Melitele. You needed medical attention and it was the first thing that came to mind.”  
Findt wanted to curse but he heard steps of someone approaching so he closed his eyes, hoping he could pass as being asleep.  
A priestess entered, her floor length robe moved as she stepped inside and closed the door, she carried a basket and a jug with water. She turned to Connari. “The High Priestess wants to talk to you.”  
The muscles in Connari’s jar tensed. “As I said earlier, I’m staying here. I will not go anywhere.” They looked at Findt and crossed their arms in front of their chest. “The mother might come down to me if she wishes to speak to me.”  
Connari’s sudden politeness suprised Findt in a positive way. Maybe they were knight material after all.  
“Well, then child.” The priestess pulled a stool up to the bed and sat down to start to change Findt’s bandages.  
Findt had his eyes closed but he could sense how Connari tensed up more, with every moment the woman stayed. What was going on inside their head?  
The witcher focused on his breathing and managed to resist the urge to twitch when the priestess’ cold hands touched his bare skin. Apart from those she was very gentle and knew what she was doing.  
“Did he wake up?” the priestess asked after a while of silence.  
Connari shook their head.  
“Not even for a bit?”  
“No, ma’am.”  
“Huh. I thought I heard voices from this room on my way down.”  
“I talked to myself,” they lied.  
The priestess seemed to accept it as a fact and didn’t ask any further questions. She wrapped up her work (literally) and left the jug of water along with two clay cups on the small table in the room. “I’ll bring you two food later,” she added before leaving.  
Connari almost held their breath until they couldn’t hear her steps anymore. She sighed audibly. “What the hell?” they whispered to themselves.  
“Why didn’t you go with her?” Findt asked quietly, opened his eyes to look at them.  
“I won’t leave you alone in this bloody place.” Connari narrowed their eyes to slits. “I don’t trust them.” They got up and sat down on the stool where the priestess had sat earlier.  
“Why did you follow me into the woods?”  
“I thought you were running away, leaving me behind.”  
“Oh.” Findt looked away and at the ceiling. After a while of silence he looked back at them. “I knew it was a dangerous contract and I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. That’s why I asked you to stay at the tavern. I’m sorry you thought that, I understand where you are coming from.”  
Connari sighed and switched position, pulling one knee to their chest. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?”  
“I need rest and time to heal. I’d be dead if it weren’t for your paranoia.” For the first time Connari saw Findt smile. “Really can’t wait to get out of here though.”  
Findt’s trust in them had grown, they had seen him vulnerable, dying and had let him bleed out or given him the final blow. Connari had gone out of their way to save him.  
“You saved my life,” Findt paused to breathe. “Mean’s we’re square. To be honest I’m surprised you didn’t run away after what happened in the tavern’s basement.”  
“I already told you, I have nowhere to go. I’ve been looking for a purpose in life. I know I’m probably too old and that but I would like to become a monster-slayer, just like you. I think I would enjoy tracking down monsters, solving people’s issues and even solving crimes.”  
“Your politeness towards the priestess really surprised me, since you don’t seem to like them very much.”  
“I do respect their goddess and I really needed their help, so...”  
Findt smiled slightly.  
“I can get your things. We can leave right now.” Connari got up.  
“No!” he barked, regretting it th enext second. “We.. I… Look at me.”  
The child froze and looked at him, trying to figure out what he was refering to.  
“The potion does boost my healing… stabilised me… but it doesn’t magically fix me… my body has to do that… hard work.” Findt had his eyes closed again, talking took him a lot of energy. He took a deep breath. “You did your part, thank you. If you want you can leave. I know you hate this place.”  
“Ha! Nice try. I won’t leave you behind now.”  
Findt didn’t get around to say another word, another wave of tiredness rolled over him, he fell back asleep.


End file.
